


the space between worlds

by andnowforyaya



Series: the space between stars [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Dehumanization, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Master/Slave, Muzzles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, Slaves, Space Opera, Trauma, Violence, War, kuntencas, pre kunten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: Xuxi, he wanted to say, wanted Ten to hear.My name is Xuxi.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Series: the space between stars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799056
Comments: 457
Kudos: 660





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! please pay attention to the tags in this fic. this fic deals with a lot of potentially triggering stuff because of the world that the characters exist within. take care <3
> 
> also the rating may go up

The war had been over for six days by the time the news of Atella’s surrender reached the mines where Xuxi labored. On the seventh day, the slaves rose up against their Atellan overlords and the oppressors fled. On the eighth, Weishenin soldiers by the hundreds quelled the uprising and forced the slaves back into the dark tunnels again. 

On the ninth day after Atella's surrender, Xuxi was plucked from his work without explanation by a pair of soldiers with crackling batons, his arms wrenched behind his back and his wrists fastened into restraints. He was used to this kind of treatment, and so he went where he was led, eyeing the batons in the soldier’s hands and wondering if they stung more than the barbed tip of a whip.

The rags he wore as clothes were stripped from his body, and he was bathed and scrubbed by attendants in the pools that had been constructed nearby until his skin was gleaming like burnished bronze under the red sun. The water evaporated from his skin quickly in the dry heat of the desert, though his thick black hair retained some moisture as the attendants slipped a black tunic over his head that came down to his mid-thighs. It was plain and thin, but it was still the finest piece of clothing that Xuxi had worn in years, and he admired it as the soldiers refastened the restraints around his wrists. 

New clothes likely meant new work, right? Maybe he was done with the mines.

Unfortunately they didn’t provide any undergarments underneath the tunic, and Xuxi had to shift his gait to keep his sex from chafing against the fabric when they began to lead him away from the public pools and the mines toward the camp that had been set up in the shadow of the sleek black warship out of which the Weishenin commanded their operations.

His curiosity swelled. On his shifts to and from the mines, Xuxi had seen the soldiers with their red and black crests milling about the camp like skittering insects in the distance. He imagined how they sweltered under the heat. Wouldn’t they simply shrivel up into husks without water? 

“What work lies at the camp?” he asked, his tongue tripping over the unfamiliar trills and runs in Weishenin as he turned toward the soldiers beside him. 

In an instant, one of the soldiers stomped on the backs of his legs, bringing him down to his knees, and while Xuxi cried out in surprise, the other forced a leather muzzle over his chin and nose, fastening it quickly. Xuxi was too stunned to fight back. 

“You didn’t muzzle him, idiot!” the soldier at his back accused.

“Shut up, I’m doing it now!” The soldier yanked at the straps of the muzzle until they dug into Xuxi’s cheeks. “You,” he hissed, “do not speak. You are a dog.”

“Sicheng won’t like this one,” the other soldier grunted. He hoisted Xuxi upwards with a groan, and Xuxi struggled to get his feet back under himself. “Too slow. Mind and body,” he added, laughing.

Xuxi felt the rumble of a growl building in the back of his throat but swallowed it down for the sake of self-preservation. If they wanted him to be a dog, then he would be a dog. 

For now. Until he knew more.

They led him into the camp, where he could see more clearly how the Weishen occupiers were faring. What Xuxi had assumed were simple tents were actually large glass terrariums that comfortably fit three soldiers in each, and each of these glass domes was covered by an awning that provided necessary shade from the hot sun. A complicated network of pipes connected the domes to the warship, and as Xuxi walked past them, he saw how the inside the domes were pools of precious water, and the soldiers rested in these, cooling off, refreshing themselves as slaves worked the mines in the relentless heat not even 100 paces away. 

Weishen technology was not new to Xuxi; he had seen it before, but the strangeness of it was still so jolting to him, and he stared into the domes, wondering if the cool blue water they’d brought with them felt different to the hard, abrasive, brackish water that filled their pools by the mines.

The ramp to the cargo hold of the ship had been lowered to the sand. As they neared, a breeze that came from inside the ship ruffled Xuxi’s hair, the tunic. A line of Atellan men, all fit and broadly muscled and wearing the same as Xuxi, their ears tilted back in trained deference, faced the ramp. As the soldiers marched Xuxi up to join them at the end of the line, Xuxi noticed the chains that bound the men together by their ankles. These same heavy chains warmed by body heat and sand were looped around his ankles, too. 

So was he to work on the ship? With the others? It was strange that only Atellan men were present, when slaves from nearly every corner of every galaxy worked the mines. It made Xuxi think that whatever they were going to be doing, it would involve some physical prowess. Atellans were known for their brutish strength. 

He recognized a few of the men by face only and not by name. Work in the tunnels mining for precious raw ore was reserved for the lowest slaves, and for slaves who were being punished; this had been Xuxi’s station for multiple moon cycles. There was other work for better, well-behaved slaves: Transporters, Refiners, Counters, and the like. These were all above-ground duties, and Xuxi wondered if these roles were where the other men had come from. He’d been a Transporter before being assigned to the tunnels. He hated the darkness of the tunnels and saw this as a chance at being out of them.

Xuxi shifted his weight from foot to foot, his movement restricted because of the chains around his ankles. The other men were all of height or taller than Xuxi, and he found himself squaring his chest to ensure his height was fairly represented. He noticed with some interest that he seemed to be the youngest of the lot, his face still smooth despite years as a slave, his muscles round, supple and buff compared to the sinewy cords stretched across the bodies of the others. 

A man wearing flowing red robes that were fitted at the waist by a thick, black brocade belt and decorative armor that gleamed black and gold over his shoulders appeared at the top of the ramp and paused, and the soldiers came abruptly to attention before him. He meandered down the ramp with all the ease and elegance of a flower petal falling to the earth, and when he reached the sand, he began to pace before the line of Atellans, eyeing the slaves up and down as though he were sizing up hunks of meat at a butcher’s. 

Xuxi supposed they were no better than hunks of meat. Nonetheless, when the man stood before him, Xuxi lifted his chin and squared his shoulders again, feeling satisfaction burn in his belly when the man smirked at him. Then his tunic was being lifted from behind, and the man stooped forward to inspect what hung between Xuxi’s thighs closer. Xuxi, pulling at the restraints around his wrists, growled underneath the muzzle, baring his teeth and rattling his chains.

“This one for the Prince,” the man said immediately, snapping his fingers. He spoke in clear Weishenin, the vowel sounds like a babbling creek over stones, languid and assured.

“Sicheng, surely the Prince would want--”

“I know what the Prince wants,” Sicheng snapped, and the soldier who had spoken up fell back, silent, cowed. 

At the wave of Sicheng’s hand, the soldiers swarmed the line of Atellan slaves, and Xuxi found himself being knocked to his knees again, his head held down by multiple hands as they released his ankles from the chains. He breathed in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, forcing the surge of wildness and anger back from the surface of his skin. 

He had no power here. Atella had fallen to the Weishen Empire, and now he was its slave.

The soldiers heaved him to his feet and half-dragged, half-walked him across the gritty, packed sand toward the ship.

Xuxi spared only one glance behind his back at his Atellan brothers, but no one met his eyes. Were they relieved they had been spared? Were they jealous Xuxi had been chosen? He couldn’t follow the conversation happening between the guards holding him as they spoke tersely and more rapidly than Sicheng had in their liquid Weishen tongue, but he knew not to hope for freedom. Or choice. He had been a slave for over a decade now, and he expected he would remain one until he was dead. 

So now he did not struggle or fight; he waited, reserving his energy for what lay ahead as they climbed the ramp.

.

When Xuxi was ten years old, his mother sold him to an old Lord who owned a sprawling vineyard. The bright yellow berries the Lord fermented into sweet wine grew on red vines that crawled across the ground, and as such, children with their nimble fingers and flexible spines made good laborers. 

He remembered little of his childhood before his time on the vineyard, except that he had been hungry. That was the emotion that welled up inside of him whenever he thought of the years he spent under his mother’s rattling roof. His mother had been loud, as had been his siblings, of which he had near a dozen. He could not recall if he had ever known his father, but he did recall how the story changed every time Xuxi asked his mother about him -- he had left them; he was at war; he had died on the front lines; he was coming back soon. Xuxi had rather played with his knuckle-bone dice set than think about him.

The vineyard was different, and even as a child he knew it was special. The Lord often talked about how special it was for a vineyard to continue to thrive in a world that was being ravaged by war. “Generals will always need their drink,” he’d said.

There were other boys his age here, other slaves, and they all slept in the same wing of the farmhouse and were fed two meals a day. Three, if they could wake early enough. In the early evenings while the sun was setting, the Lord allowed them to roam and play. A tutor came by twice a week to teach the boys to read and write and count. 

“You will not be mine forever,” Xuxi remembered the Lord saying once to the rows of boys seated on the floor of their classroom, faces upturned to their tutor and master. “And when you leave here, you will not say I have not treated you well.”

The vineyard bordered the cliffs that dropped straight into the ocean. Xuxi spent many nights there, staring out across the water as the waves crashed upon the rocks, belly full and mind running with words, with questions, with numbers. He made friends. He laughed. He knew nothing of the work in the mines, of true darkness, and he knew little of war other than the drills they practiced once a week to hide in the cellar if the Weishen army came marching, trampling their vines. During the day he competed with the boys to see who could pick the most berries in an hour and at night when they played, they wrestled, nipping at each other’s necks and ankles. He learned how to discern the ripest, sweetest berries as he plucked them from their vines, and it was a rare thrill to pause under the hot sun, to eat just one when no one was looking, its juices bursting against his tongue.

He did not think there was anything more.

In the end it was not the Weishen who came for them at the vineyard, but Atellan soldiers with the High Order's decree to procure more ore. The war needed fuel, not drunk generals, and the Lord was sitting on rich land, ripe for mining. 

.

Xuxi awoke in a nest of soft, lush furs. He smelled the slight musk and earthiness of them before he saw their color that was somewhere between blue and black. As he slowly regained consciousness, he realized that the last thing he remembered was being walked between two soldiers to a grand ship and boarding it. The skin around his ankles and wrists burned with a dull heat from being rubbed raw between chains and restraints.

He tried to open his mouth to stretch his stiff jaw, and his eyes flew open completely when he couldn’t. It was like his teeth had been cemented together. 

His hands flew up to his face. Gone were the leather straps of the muzzle he had been wearing, but in its place was metal. This new muzzle was tighter and made of thick wires, clamping his jaw shut, and with searching fingers he traced the shape of it, molded to his face, over the bridge of his nose, and closed around the base of his skull. He yanked at the wires and groaned in pain when the contraption pulled hard at his scalp and hair by his temples. When had they put this on him?

Shadowy movement out of the corner of his eye startled him to a seated position on the furs, and only then did he notice his surroundings. He was in some sunken area in the floor of a larger den, and all around him were black and blue furs and cushions. Beyond where he was seated were other sunken areas, like giant shallow bowls that had been carved into the floor. Xuxi counted eight of them, including the one he was in, equally spaced and with room to walk between them. Sheer blue panels of fabric hung from the ceiling around the pods to create the illusion of privacy. 

The pod was large enough for Xuxi to stretch out horizontally in any direction, and when he rose to his feet he found that it was shallow enough that his torso was fully visible over the top of it. Xuxi climbed out, slipping twice over the furs that moved under his feet, to bring himself to the surface. He pushed the sheer panels aside with a soft grunt. 

The ceiling and floors were white, shiny, and marbled through with glittering silver. Sconces on the white walls between narrow slivers of windows bathed the entire den in grey light, the atmosphere not unlike the strange half-darkness just before morning.

Xuxi saw figures moving within each of the pits. The low murmur of conversation in a mix of languages, all of which were foreign to him, overwhelmed his senses.

Humidity clung to his skin, and the gentle lapping of waves reached his ears. One of the pods was filled with water so blue that it glowed before his eyes. It stank of something sweet and floral. It reminded him of the vineyard.

Where was he? What was this place? 

To his left, perhaps twenty paces past the furthest pod, there was a set of double doors. A Weishenin guard stood before it, the red and black crest flashing across his chest piece.

A way out.

Xuxi's eyes roamed the room again, this time with more focus and intent, and he counted five more guards in all, stationed around the perimeter like statues. He saw the banner of the Weishen Empire hanging heavy and still behind him, its colors stark against the white walls.

“Oh, you're awake. An Atellan?” someone said at his elbow. 

Xuxi jumped in his skin and growled, swiveling around quickly and dropping into a defensive crouch. 

His breath froze in his lungs. If only his jaw could fall open.

A Saphyrian.

He never thought he’d see a real Saphyrian in the flesh. He’d heard rumors of the enchanting beauty Saphyrians possessed but had never witnessed it firsthand, and thought now that it was like looking directly at the sun, or maybe directly at one of Atella’s three moons -- the largest, brightest one. The Saphyrian’s silver hair seemed to give off light, and his horns reminded Xuxi of seashells.

The nymph-like creature, blue eyes glittering as he grinned, moved languidly toward Xuxi, who found he couldn't look away from his magnetic gaze. The Saphyrian was naked, and Xuxi raked his gaze over all of that bare luminescent skin hungrily.

“I guess what they say about your kind is true,” the Saphyrian said in perfect Atellan, only it was more beautiful coming out of his mouth, somehow kinder and lovely and melodic. He glanced down pointedly with a smirk, and Xuxi’s hands moved to cover himself when he realized quite suddenly that he was no longer wearing the black tunic, that he was naked. Heat flared in Xuxi’s cheeks and ears when his hands touched smooth, slightly prickly skin, and he looked down at himself in alarm. 

A muffled shout was strangled by the muzzle. He was hairless!

“I wonder if he picked you to fuck him or to be fucked by him,” the Saphyrian continued crudely, not noticing Xuxi's growing distress, or taking some other meaning by it. Xuxi’s nostrils flared as he examined himself, hairless as a boy, utterly exposed. “Oh, you’d rather do the fucking? Or maybe...maybe you’re thinking of fucking me?”

Xuxi glanced at the Saphyrian finally, whose pink mouth was puckered in a moue that made Xuxi twitch under his own hand. The Saphyrian barely came up to Xuxi’s shoulder, and Xuxi wondered if it was true that Saphyrians could be molded to take any shape and size. He wondered if it was true that Saphyrians had a special gland behind their throats that made oral sex especially pleasurable. He wondered if their horns glowed the way the stories said they did, so that it was nearly impossible for a Saphyrian to hide if the sex had been good or bad or just mediocre.

His eyes widened when the Saphyrian moved past him, the brush of his skin against Xuxi’s like a breeze across sand. His gaze followed, and then the turning of his body, as the Saphyrian pushed the panels of Xuxi’s pod to the side completely and sat at the edge of the depression in the floor, his legs dangling within. He patted the space beside him in invitation, but Xuxi remained standing with his hands cupped around himself, watching him carefully. 

"You poor thing," the Saphyrian cooed. “Sit. I won’t bite.” He grinned, and Xuxi knew he was making an underhanded comment about his muzzle. He patted the space beside him again. 

Xuxi huffed, rolling his eyes, and sat. 

The Saphyrian examined him boldly, humming, a grin tucked into the corners of his mouth. His small hands cupped Xuxi's face around the cold metal. Inexplicably, Xuxi did not flinch back from the unexpected touch but quietened like he’d been turned to stone. He felt his racing heartbeat start to slow as he looked into the other's eyes, and he lifted his hands to wrap them gently around the Saphyrian’s thin wrists. One of them gasped.

"It’s really on there, huh. Shame. Though I suppose they can’t take any chances with you. Sicheng has told you nothing of what to expect, I suspect."

_ What is this place? _ Xuxi wanted to ask.  _ Where am I? What am I here for?  _ He raised both eyebrows in question, hoping to convey what words his lips could not form.

The Saphyrian dropped his hands and shook his head. "Better that he tells you."

The doors opened then. With a soft exclamation, the Saphyrian slid gracefully into the pod and gestured for Xuxi to do the same. Bewildered, Xuxi did, and he watched with growing confusion and concern when the Saphyrian struggled to pull the panels shut. He was not quite tall enough to manipulate the panels in this way from within the center of the pod, as in his haste, he kept slipping on the furs, so Xuxi closed them for him. 

When the panels were closed, the Saphyrian turned to him, gratefulness in his eyes. “If we are very quiet,” he said, “maybe they’ll forget I’m here.” 

As a slave for the mines, Xuxi had grown accustomed to the morning ritual of lining up with the other slaves at the first blare of the horn, of trudging through the tunnels with an orb around his neck to light the way. He knew how to follow orders. Not having them made him anxious. He nodded.

Sicheng strode through the door, flanked by two guards in lesser armor. Their faces were bare, but their arms, legs, and chests were protected by thin, flexible armor. Xuxi was familiar with Weishenin features because of the war: grey eyes, skin as pale as the belly of a fish, inky black hair. Neither of the guards had markings on their skin that were visible, which meant they were not very important, but Sicheng had a small red half-moon between his brows that Xuxi had not noticed before. He wondered what it meant.

Sicheng's red robes flowed behind him as he walked. "Ten," he said in a voice that echoed throughout the den. "You are called."

The Saphyrian stood beside him, fingers at Xuxi’s elbow. Xuxi wanted to curl his arm around his small shoulders. 

“Ten,” Sicheng said again, before pausing. Then: “I will not call for you a third time.”

A suffocating hush fell over the den.

"Ten—"

The Saphyrian cleared his throat. "Yes? I am called again?"

Xuxi glanced at him. So the Saphyrian was named Ten. Xuxi's body tensed when Sicheng and the guards rounded on them and began to approach. 

"Yes, again," Sicheng said, his tone bored.

"But my ass is still sore," Ten complained.

Sicheng was not moved. "I'm sure the King will care."

"He could," Ten muttered.

Xuxi watched the exchange with fascination. Sicheng did not need to lift a finger for the guards to pull the panels to the side, and the three of them waited as Ten took a deep breath and clambered out of the pod, leaving Xuxi where he was. Ten was not struggling, but he did not look pleased, his head hanging between his shoulders as Sicheng stood back so that the guards could hold him between them, their hands under his armpits. Slowly, Sicheng walked a circle around Ten, eyes roving over his body.

"Like what you see?" Ten teased lazily.

Sicheng clapped his hands together once, the sleeves of his robes fluttering like wings, and a guard that had been standing by the wall closest to them stepped forward, a flask in hand. The moment Ten saw it, his eyes went wide, his shoulders rigid. His little horns flashed bright yellow.

Ten whispered, " _ No _ . No, please—"

Something was happening that twisted Xuxi's gut. Before he knew what he was doing, he had leapt from the pod with a growl, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving. Sicheng was looking at him, as were the guards, as was Ten.

"On your knees!" 

The order was barked at Xuxi by an advancing guard who had peeled away from the wall. This close, Xuxi could see the weapons that lined the guard's belt. The whip coiled at his hips. The three daggers sheathed by his waist. The short, blunt baton in his hands. He carried a flask at his hip, too, and Xuxi wondered about its contents.

“On your knees!” the guard repeated. Xuxi cocked his head, breathing angrily out of his nostrils, sizing him up. He was bigger than the guard by half a head, and undoubtedly stronger. There were others in the pods, hiding away behind the panels. Would they help, if Xuxi fought? 

“Idiot, do what he says,” Ten called out desperately, though Xuxi could barely hear him for the buzzing rising in his ears. “Hey, look at me. You—What’s your name? What's his name?  _ Look at me.  _ Don’t be stupid; do what he says—”

Anger reared its ugly head inside of him when one of the guards holding Ten slapped him hard across the mouth to get him to shut up. Ten went limp in an instant, stunned silent. Xuxi growled, pounding a fist over his chest as his blood grew hot with the need to fight, to brawl.

Suddenly, a shock of pain burst across his ribs and his back and Xuxi threw his head back and howled. Three guards were upon him with their batons. He felt restraints being buckled and tightened around his wrists behind his back.

“Don’t hurt him!” he heard Ten plead. “He doesn’t know anything yet!”

“Shut your mouth.” Another slap, followed by a whimper.

Xuxi had endured the whip many times as a slave in the mines, but these were simple instruments of pain compared to the technology and finesse of these Weishenin weapons. His knees buckled when the third blast from the baton made it feel like lightning was scorching him from the inside out, and he fell on them hard, his vision beginning to blur and grow hazy at the edges. He would not hold out for much longer. Turning his head to the side was an effort that required all of his conscious thought, all of his willpower.

He saw Ten on his knees also, his arms wrenched behind his back, the long column of his neck exposed as Sicheng cupped his chin and forced his mouth open. He watched Sicheng pour what was in the flask down Ten’s throat as Ten coughed and sputtered.

_ Xuxi _ , he wanted to say, wanted Ten to hear.  _ My name is Xuxi. _

.


	2. Chapter 2

Xuxi opened his eyes when he felt a shadow move over his face, flinging his hand up for protection but stopping short with a pained groan when his whole side cramped up in protest, and he remembered being beaten, passing out. He heard a high-pitched yelp and thump. Rolling over, he saw a young man in a flimsy black robe pressed back against the black and blue cushions, his hands in the air. They were in the pod, and this time the furs felt scratchy on Xuxi’s over-sensitized skin. He felt like he’d been thrown down a ravine.

“Woah, big guy!” the stranger said in stilted Weishenin. “Take it easy…”

Xuxi worked his jaw, grunted.

“I’m Hendery,” he said, raising his eyes to Xuxi’s and starting to stand slowly, exaggerating his movements to broadcast to Xuxi exactly what he was doing. “You’re Xuxi, right? I heard Sicheng say it to the guards when they—well, when they wouldn’t let up. You okay? You were out for a while.”

He wondered how long ‘a while’ was. He felt shame at having crumpled so easily under the baton, but it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. The crackling electricity not only felt like fire under and over his skin, it had also sapped him of his energy. A quick examination of his body revealed that it had left no visible marks.

If Hendery had heard Sicheng call his name then...he’d been there during the beating. Why hadn’t Hendery done anything? He was dressed in a robe where Ten and Xuxi had not been, though the robe itself was nearly translucent, and hugged his body closely. Was he another prisoner here, then, or something else? Xuxi narrowed his eyes at Hendery with the fiercest glare he could manage and felt a thrill of satisfaction roll up his spine when Hendery’s throat bobbed in his neck nervously.

Hendery shuffled closer on timid feet. “I was in my pool,” he explained. “I don’t like being around the guards.”

A prisoner, then. Or perhaps a very fearful servant. His hunched shoulders made his frame look small, and water dripped from the tendrils of black hair tucked behind his ears, gathering in his sharp collar bones and sliding down his chest. His skin glimmered faintly with scales, giving him a blue hue all over, and his eyes were huge and round and glowing faintly, reminding Xuxi of the orbs they used to carry in the tunnels for light. He kept his hands extended at his sides in a show of peace, and Xuxi’s gaze was drawn to the webbing between Hendery’s fingers.

Hendery said, “They’ll bring our meal soon,” but Xuxi was still staring at Hendery’s hands. After a moment, Hendery clenched them into fists with a bright, airy laugh. “What’s the matter? Never seen a Siren before?”

Xuxi made a small noise of disbelief and shook his head, pushing himself onto his elbows. Sirens were rumored to be extinct, a casualty of the Weishen empire. They had not adapted to life above water in the same way the Weishen had, and were rumored to have been gentle, full-hearted folk, giving and welcoming and accommodating. Their sweet, lilting songs could make kings forget about war, about acts of treason. It was one of the reasons why they had to be crushed by the Empire first.

“Don’t look so surprised, Xuxi,” Hendery said. “They let some of us live. Owning a Siren now is a symbol of status and wealth. I’m very expensive.”

Xuxi’s eyes widened at that word.  _ Owning _ . Owned. 

So he was a slave, after all, just as Xuxi was. He thought of Ten and his delicate, pretty features. Their nakedness and the comments Ten had made. The hair that had been shaved from between his legs. He knew what kind of slaves they were.

The den was alive with noises again. From one of the pods, Xuxi heard someone plucking chords over a stringed instrument, a high, sweet voice accompanying it in song. From another one of the pods, he heard the muffled noises of sex—the breathless gasping, the quavering moans.

“You shouldn’t get yourself so worked up over Ten like that,” Hendery was saying. “He’s nice, but he’s very mouthy. Not trained at all. Not like me.” His shoulders broadened slightly in pride as he flashed his teeth in a smile. “Would you like a robe to cover up? I’m not bothered by it, but maybe you would feel better if you’re clothed when they return with the meal.”

Hendery did not wait for Xuxi to respond before slipping out of the pod and walking over to the wall. He passed his hand over a panel and Xuxi’s eyes widened in surprise when the wall broke itself apart and split into shelves. On the lowest shelf, Xuxi saw stacks of furs and folded blankets; on the shelves above, rolls of towels and robes. Hendery stood there pondering over his selection before plucking a rolled black bundle from the shelf at his hip and returning to Xuxi with it. “Here,” he said, tossing the bundle to Xuxi. “Put this on.”

Xuxi caught it and nearly let it slip through his fingers, it was so smooth and silken. He grasped clumsily at the fabric and pulled his arms through the sleeves, tying it shut loosely at his waist.

“Would you like to meet some of the others?” Hendery asked in a hopeful tone.

Xuxi considered this. He had no interest in interrupting the pair of slaves he heard rutting in a nearby pod. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about anyone who had turned a blind eye to Ten’s struggle with the guards. Even as a slave, Xuxi had integrity.

He was saved from the burden of answering when the door opened, and again Sicheng walked through it flanked by guards. Behind them, a train of attendants carried long golden tables piled high with food between them and brought these into the center of the den before scuttling into the corners of the room after, no doubt waiting until they would be asked to clear the tables away again. Upon the tables, Xuxi saw clumps of murky green kelp and other seaweeds, bowls of dark blue berries that even from a distance looked hard and tart, and not sweet and tender, a basket overflowing with flat breads and various jars filled with spreads. He smelled fish. Not cooked, though. Raw.

How unappetizing. Of course, with the way the Weishenin evolved, their foods would consist mostly of raw sea creatures and the vegetation that was available to them. He’d heard that despite their advancements in technology and exposure to so many different cultures, planets and galaxies, the Weishenin had stuck stubbornly to their diet.

It was a loss, Xuxi thought, to rarely be offered the chance to eat grilled meat. Even grilled vegetables. His mouth watered at the thought of chewing his way through tough jerky while his stomach growled noisily. Eyes widening, he remembered the muzzle. Would they take it off of him so he could eat?

Hendery had jumped up at their entrance, and his eyes had followed the procession of food as the attendants brought them into the center of the den. “Is that—?” his lips made a sound Xuxi had never heard before.

“Yes,” Sicheng said. A smile ghosted over his lips, flickering on and off like a shy shadow.

“My favorite!” Hendery exclaimed excitedly. He traipsed over to the tables, leaving Xuxi behind.

Xuxi climbed out of the pod cautiously, watching as the others emerged from the recesses in the floor and gathered around the food. Most of the slaves were humanoid, some with features that were delicate and unfamiliar to Xuxi’s eye. He caught the whirl of a horn and the glimmer of broken wings. He saw long-necked creatures and others with more limbs than he was used to seeing on one body.

When Xuxi moved closer, the difference in size between himself and the other slaves was much starker. He was a whole head taller than nearly everyone else in the group, aside from Sicheng.

As the slaves gathered their plates and filled them, Xuxi stood behind, at a distance, unsure what to do. He could not eat with the muzzle on, though he was hungry. If he approached Sicheng without being called, he was almost certain he’d be beaten again. He fiddled with the sash around his waist keeping his robe closed and resented Sicheng from afar.

Hendery broke away from the chattering group around the buffet, a plate in either hand, his smile huge and gleaming like a sickle. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I got you some of everything!” He offered Xuxi one of the plates, and Xuxi took it, swallowing down the unease that was building in his stomach. It wasn’t as though as a slave on Atella he’d been able to eat  _ well _ , but at least it was food he’d been accustomed to. “The gluplorgorp is really good,” Hendery continued, the sound he’d made earlier with Sicheng now registering as syllables. He picked up one thinly sliced piece of white meat and wiggled it between his fingers, then slurped it into his mouth.

Xuxi lifted a finger and pointed at his muzzle, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh!” Hendery exclaimed, mouth full, “let me get Sicheng.” 

Happily, he traipsed over to where Sicheng was standing beyond the buffet with his hands stoically held behind his back and tugged on one of Sicheng's billowing sleeves to get his attention. Xuxi ducked his head to sniff at the food on his plate. Everything, even the berries, smelled like the ocean to him: raw and briny and just shy of rotten. To his surprise, Sicheng followed behind Hendery after a short conversation Xuxi could not hear, and together with Sicheng's ever-present flank of soldiers, they approached him.

Sicheng's utter calm despite needing to raise his chin slightly to look Xuxi in the eyes made his presence feel bigger than it actually was. Xuxi had to stop himself from rounding his shoulders to make himself seem smaller and less threatening, and he leveled his gaze at him instead. Cautiously defiant.

The corner of Sicheng's mouth curled into a smirk, like a flower petal drying in the sun. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

"He wants to try the gluplorgorp!" Hendery said, popping another slice of the sliced meat into his mouth and chewing enthusiastically.

"You want to try the gluplorgorp," Sicheng repeated flatly, his tone entirely incredulous. "Well, you have to eat, I suppose, if you're to fight."

Xuxi cocked his head to the side at ‘ _ fight _ ’. What did he mean? Was Xuxi going to be placed with the Weishen army? If they were going to do that, why'd they keep him here with the other slaves?

"Since they caught another beast, Prince Kun has arranged a match for tomorrow night," Sicheng said.

"Another one? But what about the one before?" Hendery asked.

"It is dead," Sicheng said with all the emotion of a boulder. Hendery whimpered, holding onto his plate with both hands tightly. Sicheng's icy, cool blue gaze bore into Xuxi's. "After your meal, you will be accompanied to the lab, where we will measure your worth. Tomorrow, you will fight at the pleasure of the Prince. I chose you out of a line of Atellans and raised you out of the mines. I can just as easily put you back, or have you killed." He paused to let the weight of his words sink in. "Do you understand?"

He saw the promise in Sicheng's eyes, in the way the guards just a step behind him had their hands on their batons. A chill crept over Xuxi's skin, slow but thorough, cutting him to the bone. He nodded.

"Good." Sicheng's grin was sharp and shark-like. Swiftly, he stepped forward and reached behind the base of Xuxi's skull. Xuxi felt the press of a finger and then heard the hissing release of a valve by his ear. The muzzle loosened, split in half, and the once immutable metal twisted around Xuxi’s neck like a collar, tight against his skin. He gasped and brought his hand to the pressure around his throat, digging his fingers underneath the metal band that had already solidified again.

“It can be activated in the same way as the guards’ batons," Sicheng warned. "So leave it, and you will be fine.”

Xuxi dropped his hand, his heart racing in his chest. The collar was snug around his neck but did not restrict his breathing. He worked his jaw from side to side, releasing the tension and stiffness in the joints that accumulated over hours of bondage. He was grateful for the movement, then hated himself for being grateful.

"It goes back up when the meal is done," Sicheng said. "Do not test the boundaries of my generosity."

.

“Is it good?” Hendery leaned over Xuxi’s plate, examining what Xuxi had already eaten, which wasn’t much. They sat side by side at the edge of Xuxi’s pod with their backs to the other slaves, and while Hendery talked about them in a low conspiratorial voice, Xuxi half-listened, more interested in tracking the movements of the guards, who seemed to be hovering closer to him now that his muzzle was off. 

What did they think he was going to do? Eat them? Xuxi was certain Weishenin meat would be bitter and texture-less, like mush. Besides, Xuxi’s jaw was still stiff and aching, and the act of chewing kind of felt like biting into a rock over and over again.

“Do you eat like this every day?” Xuxi asked, gnashing the grainy, tart berries between his teeth.

“What? Oh—” Hendery flushed and stumbled over his words at Xuxi’s interruption, turning his round, bright eyes in Xuxi’s direction. “Your voice—it’s—I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Expecting what?” Xuxi furrowed his brows and cautiously pinched a slice of gluplorgorp between his thumb and forefinger. It had the usual texture of raw fish, slick but firm, and was slightly translucent when held it up off the plate. He sniffed it with a frown.

“I don’t know. I thought you’d sound more...like a growl.”

“Like this?” Xuxi sucked in a breath and let a low, deep growl rumble out of his chest, and Hendery gasped, flinching away from him. There was a moment’s pause as the den fell silent, as Xuxi felt the weight of everyone’s gaze on him. He rolled his shoulders back and threw the slice of fish into his mouth, grimacing as he swallowed it whole. “Oh, that’s not good.”

Hendery laughed, and conversation returned to the den like the buzzing of a swarm of flies. “I had a feeling about you,” Hendery said. “You’re not so scary.”

“Am I supposed to be?”

“Well, you’re an Atellan,” Hendery stated, as though that explained everything. “You sacrifice your elderly and bathe in their blood. You eat your way through mountains. You are driven by bloodlust.”

“Do I look like I’m driven by bloodlust right now?” Xuxi went back to his food, picking the berries out from between the clumps of seaweed—the berries were about the only thing he could stomach—as heat grazed the tips of his ears and settled like a coal in his abdomen. 

The rumors of his people had reached far, and little about them were true. They didn’t sacrifice their elderly; they celebrated their full lives one night a year when their largest moon was closest to them in its orbit, paying homage to their ancestors and to those who would be joining them soon. They did not eat their way through mountains; they mined, and separate from that, their jaws were strong, their teeth able to crunch through bone. That they were driven by bloodlust was a story told to children of all kinds to get them to behave. 

Xuxi did not think he was driven by bloodlust, but there was something inside of him that smoldered with anger, and sometimes, it only took a spark for the flames to sweep up and overcome him, and he would emerge from his fury disoriented and drained, dreading to know the destruction he’d left behind. It had only happened twice before in his life: the first, when he saw the vines and berries being crushed under the feet of dozens of Atellan soldiers as they took over the vineyard; and the second, when a group of older slaves made it known what they had planned to do to the boy Xuxi had become hesitant friends with while working as a Transporter. He’d awoken with blood spattered across his chest and arms, and he’d been given thirty lashes with the whip as punishment. When he could walk again, he’d been assigned to the mines.

It was true that their heightened senses and physical strength gave them an advantage over many other species, but calling such a thing bloodlust made it sound like all Atellans were feral beasts who murdered for sport. The fugue state that had taken Xuxi over twice already in his life was something he desperately hoped to avoid in the future, and he believed he could if he could tamp down on his own emotions, if he could feel nothing. 

He’d almost slipped with the guards’ treatment of Ten, yesterday.

“Well, no, it doesn’t look like it,” Hendery admitted. “But don’t your eyes glow red when you have the bloodlust?” 

Xuxi grunted. “No.”

“Don’t your teeth grow longer and sharper?”

“No,” Xuxi said.

“Don’t you grow stronger?” Hendery pressed, intent and inquisitive.

Xuxi considered it before shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

Hendery sighed, shoulders sagging. “Well, if you don’t grow stronger, then I wish you luck in the fight. You’ll need it.”

“What is the fight?” Xuxi asked. He nibbled on a strand of thick seaweed and spat it back out onto the plate. It had the texture of stomach lining and tasted of fish rot.

Hendery gave him a discerning look, grimacing slightly, as though personally offended Xuxi did not like the food. “The fight is an event put on by the Prince. It strengthens the hearts of his generals and soldiers. It is good for morale.”

“Yes,” Xuxi agreed absently, impatiently. He found the lack of directness from Hendery, from Sicheng, even from Ten, aggravating and frustrating. “But what  _ is  _ it?”

“Have you heard of the nightcrawlers on Nimrae?” Hendery asked.

Xuxi shook his head.

Hendery held a couple of the berries in his hand and popped them into his mouth one by one. “The furs come from them,” he explained. “They are native here. Ferocious. It’s a sport to them.”

“To who?”

“The Nimrae.” Hendery shrugged. “And now to the Weishenin.”

Xuxi peered down into the pod and assessed the furs laid out over the basin floor. Each skin was at least large enough to cover Xuxi’s body. He tried to picture the beasts in his head based on the scant information Hendery had provided. “What do they look like?” he asked. Then, more to the point: “Am I expected to kill it?”

“Well, yes.” Hendery shifted in his seat and put his empty plate to the side. “They’re hard to describe. It would be easier for me to just show you.”

Xuxi put his plate to the side as well. He had finished the berries and everything else made his throat want to close up permanently. “Show me, then.”

He was not expecting Hendery to grin and take hold of his forearm, his thin fingers dwarfed by the thickness of Xuxi’s wrist. His skin was a shock of coolness. 

“Come,” Hendery said, and Xuxi went with him, followed behind his skipping, tripping steps. They passed two other pods before reaching the last one in the corner, where the narrow windows on the adjacent walls looked out over a black forest. The sky was an unfamiliar shade of blue, like the glow of Hendery’s eyes. His pod was cloaked in the sheer blue panels like the others, but instead of furs it was filled with water. Without sparing Xuxi a glance, Hendery released his hold on his wrist and began to step into it, shedding his robe and throwing it to the side where it fluttered to the ground. He turned around in the water and promptly sat, excitement in his eyes. “Come,” he repeated. “You have to be in the water, too.”

“For what?”

“For me to show you!”

“Show me what?”

“What the nightcrawlers look like!” Hendery splashed water in Xuxi’s general direction, playfulness bordering on exasperation.

Xuxi glanced around at the other slaves and the guards in the room. Everyone was occupied, save for Sicheng, who Xuxi found was watching them with narrowed eyes from across the room. Xuxi turned away from him with a grunt and dipped his toe into the water.

It was frigid. He felt his balls shrivel up just from that microsecond of exposure, but Hendery looked so hopeful, so pleased, that he took a deep breath and stepped into the water. The iciness bit at his ankles and calves and knees and made the hair on his arms stand on end, but after a few more deep breaths, he grew used to the feeling so that he could lower himself into the water slowly. 

“Take off your robe,” Hendery said, nearly bouncing as he waited for Xuxi to join him. “Sit with me. The Weishenin ask me to do this with them, but the other slaves don’t like it.”

The words gave Xuxi pause, but he also had no reason not to trust Hendery, who had only tried to help him since he woke up. He sat in the water, his robe discarded at the side of the pod. “Even Ten?” he asked. “Is it a trick?”

“Just stay very still,” Hendery murmured, “and look at me.”

Hendery moved forward, skimming through the water, his hands reaching for Xuxi’s face. Xuxi fought down the instinct to snarl, to raise his hands in defense, and only chuffed out a breath when Hendery touched him again, his palm under Xuxi’s chin, his other hand folded over the crown of Xuxi’s head. He looked into Xuxi’s eyes, and Xuxi looked back, unable to break his stare away from the flare of azure in Hendery’s irises, like twin flames against the void of a black night.

Xuxi blinked and saw a beast. A nightcrawler.

A hulking thing on four legs, its hind legs were longer and thicker so that it could stand up on them. Its fur was simply the absence of color, so deep and saturated it seemed to suck the vibrancy from its surroundings. And when it opened its maw, Xuxi saw rows of sharp white teeth, dripping saliva. It lunged.

Xuxi reared back and flailed in the pool of Hendery’s pod, falling under the surface of the water and pushing himself back up for air with a gasp. Hendery was looking at him with concern, the glow of his eyes dimming, his hands still raised in the air.

“Sorry,” Hendery whispered.

“How am I meant to fight  _ that _ ?!” Xuxi asked. 

A flash of red out of the corner of his eye made him go still. Sicheng stood at the pool’s edge, his mouth pinched into a frown. “I assume what Hendery showed you is accurate,” he said. “Have you had your fun, Hendery? It is time for Xuxi to go.”

Hendery sat back and turned large eyes up at the other. “Yes, Sicheng,” he chimed, smiling sweetly. Sicheng smiled back.

The guards hefted Xuxi out of the water and held his arms back as Sicheng raised the muzzle around his face. The metal warmed immediately, as though eager for the touch of Xuxi’s skin.

.

The lab was not far. It was smaller than the den but much brighter because of the long strips of overhead lights, and it was filled with benches and tables and other equipment Xuxi could not begin to guess the names of, much less their functions. Half a dozen Weishenin wearing long white tunics stood at stations throughout the lab, calibrating the machines and muttering to themselves or complaining to the others under their breaths. 

Sicheng brought him around to the first station, where the guards pushed him into a hard, uncomfortable chair and buckled his wrists to the armrests. A technician with graying hair approached with wires in either hand and attached these to Xuxi’s temples. She held onto his chin so that he looked straight ahead.

“Brace,” the technician said, and Xuxi had no other warning before his fingers seized, his jaw clenched, and his vision went black. It was over in a breath, and it did not hurt, but the loss of control over his body made his heart pound in his chest. “It is good,” she said. “It has conscious thought.”

_ You’ve heard me speak _ , Xuxi wanted to growl at Sicheng and the others. What were these tests for? Sicheng had mentioned something about measuring his worth. What was considered worthy to the Weishenin, other than the single-minded ambition to conquer all things? 

It went on like this, from station to station. None of the tests were painful, but many of them were humiliating. They put him on a rotating belt track in the floor and measured his breaths as he ran on it. They put weights on his arms and legs and measured the height of his jumps. They measured the lengths of his limbs, the circumferences of his biceps and thighs, even the length of his dick. They brought him to the rooms where he could relieve himself and wash—these rooms were connected to the den, also—and then they plucked out one of his hairs and put it under a microscope and light, declaring him free of disease. 

By the end of the ordeal, while they were marching him back to the den, Xuxi’s muscles were shaking with the burn of embarrassment and simmering fury. Sicheng, ahead of him, turned as they reached the door, a smirk gracing his lips. 

“Your anger,” he said, looking Xuxi up and down. “Hold onto it for tomorrow. It will make for good entertainment.”

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ten is reacting to repeated trauma in the first scene here. nothing very explicit but just wanted to warn in case some would rather skip. take care <3

Sleep did not come easily that night. The furs were hot and itchy, and every time Xuxi closed his eyes he was reminded of the nightcrawler’s giant maw filled with rows of teeth. Xuxi had wrestled as a boy, with other boys, and as a man he has brawled on occasion, but he didn’t think these experiences could compare to fighting such a horrific beast. He dreamed fitfully of the tunnels and cave-ins, of running on an endless track, of creatures that hunted him in the dark.

Sometime later, Xuxi opened his eyes when his ears picked up a faint rustling sound at the edge of his pod. The sconces were lit low, nearly extinguished, and the den was quiet save for the occasional snore, the hum of deep breathing. The doors in the distance closed. He saw the shape of Ten’s horns in shadow and rolled onto his side as Ten limped across the furs. 

Xuxi began to sit up, thinking he had taken Ten’s spot somehow. Perhaps this pod was Ten’s favorite? 

But Ten shook his head sharply at Xuxi’s movement and dropped to his knees at Xuxi’s side. The smell of sweet, amber honey filled Xuxi’s lungs when Ten’s hands fell upon Xuxi’s chest, and he pushed him back down until he was flush against the furs. Ten’s skin was burning, and dry, and soft. 

“I’m sorry,” Ten whispered, his voice thin and shivering. “The others are full. The others are—you tried to help me earlier.” Ten gasped, breathing hard, and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth to stifle the sob that bubbled out of him, fingers digging into Xuxi’s muscle. He babbled in halting, broken Atellan, “I’m tired. I just want—I just want to sleep. Can we sleep?” 

This close, even in the dim light, Xuxi could see how dark Ten’s eyes were, his pupils wide and black, like empty pools. The pink flush over his body might have been easily mistaken as beautiful in the soft light of morning, but here in the shadows the rosy hue looked like a fever, like a fire under his skin that could not be put out. He held onto Ten’s wrists to keep him steady and moored against his chest and nodded slowly before releasing his grip. This was not right. Something was not right.

Ten exhaled shakily, nodding in return. “I can use my hands,” he said, folding himself over Xuxi’s body and throwing his leg over Xuxi’s waist. Xuxi’s eyes widened in alarm as Ten began to drag the tip of his nose down Xuxi’s sternum, pushing aside the fabric of his robes frantically as he went. “Just let me sleep, after.”

His hand brushed over Xuxi’s cock. 

The shout of Ten’s name was garbled behind the muzzle, but at least the noise caused Ten to pause and lift his gaze so that he peered at Xuxi from underneath silver lashes, his hot breath fluttering over Xuxi’s ribs. His lips were a slash of red in the darkness, like the color had been cut from his skin. 

“Sorry.” Ten’s voice shook. "Don't you want me to?"

Xuxi cupped the base of Ten’s skull with his hand and used the leverage to scoop Ten forward. Ten was exquisite, responsive to the lightest touches, his body moving where Xuxi led without any resistance, and Xuxi guided him as gently as he could, shaking his head and rolling them both over on the furs so that he was above and Ten was below. 

Ten’s chest heaved with harsh breaths, his eyes spilling over with crystalline tears. “Don’t look at me like that,” Ten begged, bringing his tiny fist up and throwing it into Xuxi’s chest. “I can’t stand it.” 

Xuxi caught Ten’s hand and brought it to his muzzle. He shifted onto his side, coaxing Ten with light tugs to lay with him. When they were settled and facing each other, Xuxi raised Ten’s hand, holding his fingers over his own eyes.

 _Sleep_ , he wanted to say as he swept the pads of Ten’s fingers over his own eyelids. He closed his eyes for a moment. _You’re safe with me_ , he wanted Ten to understand.

When he opened his eyes again, Ten’s expression had crumpled, stricken and raw, heavy with pain and shock. Seeing Ten like this made something catch in Xuxi’s chest. He thought of himself as an adolescent on the cusp of adulthood, seeing the mines for the first time, experiencing the sharp lash of the whip for the first time, the horrible feeling of being alone in his brokenness after. 

Xuxi made a noise, a quiet hum, as he shifted forward, but Ten pulled his hand back from him with a sharp inhale and pressed his face into his palms. A low, mournful wail rattled out of his throat.

“ _Quiet_!” someone hissed into the darkness.

Ten shuddered and clamped his teeth shut. He shook with the cries he would not let loose from between his lips, fingernails digging into the skin of his forehead, his cheeks, and Xuxi felt the sharp pain of it like Ten had clenched his fist around Xuxi’s heart. He silently cursed whoever had spoken out, whoever had stolen yet another thing from Ten: his voice, his crying sounds, his right to feel anguish and sadness. 

Reaching a hand out, Xuxi carefully brushed his thumb over the soft curve of one of Ten’s horns. It was velvety under his touch. 

The reaction from Ten was immediate. He shivered, sniffled, and tilted his head toward Xuxi’s hand, relaxing his fingers and peeking out at Xuxi from between them. 

Xuxi did it again, just a single stroke with his thumb, and felt his heart kick in his chest when Ten’s eyelids fluttered as his mouth fell open on a trembling exhale.

“I’ll fall asleep like this,” Ten breathed, shuffling forward against Xuxi’s broad chest until they were pressed together, skin to skin, Xuxi keeping his hand lightly curved around the side of Ten’s face all the while. Ten was still burning like a fever, but he draped his arm over Xuxi’s waist and sighed.

Xuxi smiled. He knew no one could see it, but perhaps if Ten had looked into his eyes then, he would have recognized the kindness in them.

.

Hendery woke Xuxi in the morning by dripping water onto his face as he leaned over him. Xuxi, wrinkling his nose and letting a growl rumble the back of his throat at the feeling of the droplets rolling over his cheeks, scratched at his eyes at the onslaught of consciousness and light. His neck ached from the precious hours he had managed to sleep on it at a strange angle, curved over Ten’s body.

He felt around absently for Ten, seeking out his warmth, his golden honey scent, but frowned when all his hands touched was fur.

“How did you sleep?” Hendery asked, lowering himself to the ground beside Xuxi when he saw that Xuxi’s eyes were open in narrow slits. Today, the robes he wore were a saturated blue that flowed over his limbs in waves. The scales covering his skin glimmered, reflecting the color, and Xuxi imagined how brilliantly Hendery would shine under the water. “How did Ten sleep? He was here, wasn’t he?” 

Xuxi grunted and pointed at his muzzle, his head still foggy and trying to understand that it was awake, and Hendery ducked his gaze and flushed, chiding himself under his breath. “I mean,” he said, trying again, “Did you sleep well?”

Xuxi shook his head. He had awoken whenever Ten startled himself awake all night, which had been often. 

Hendery frowned. “Did Ten sleep well?”

Xuxi paused, pushing himself up onto his elbows as thought of the way Ten cried—silently, brokenly—and shook his head again, feeling his eyebrows start to knit together in confusion. Where was Ten? He peered around the pod, seeing only Hendery and the slight imprint Ten’s body had left on the furs beside Xuxi. His chest felt hollow.

Hendery’s frown deepened. “But he is the King’s favorite,” Hendery said. “Why is he so sad? I heard him last night. It is not the first time he’s cried.”

Xuxi did not know how early it was, but the light outside the windows was already bright and the den was buzzing with conversation and activity and music. Hendery sat with his legs crossed beside him and chewed on his bottom lip, expression earnest and lost. 

Sympathy was not the same as compassion or understanding, and Xuxi wondered about Hendery’s life before this, and his life even now, for him to so naively question Ten’s tears. His pain. Did he not see how Ten struggled with the guards as they made him drink what was in the flask yesterday? How they had beaten Xuxi until he was unconscious? Did he think that was normal? 

Instead of trying to answer Hendery’s question, Xuxi pointed at the space beside him with a grunt, calling Hendery’s attention to it, and raised his eyebrows.

“Where is Ten?” Hendery guessed.

Xuxi nodded.

“He is probably at his dance lesson,” Hendery explained, rubbing his palms over his exposed knees. “Don’t worry. You’ll see him later tonight at the fight.” The tilt of Xuxi’s head indicated his curiosity about Hendery’s certainty, and Hendery went on with a pleased grin. “Because the King is attending, and he will bring Ten with him. You’ll see.” 

The thought did not bring Xuxi comfort. From what he’d seen of the Weishenin so far, they lived up to the stories depicting their cruelty, and hate was starting to brew in Xuxi’s gut at the thought of the King. He could only guess of the horrors Ten has had to experience at his hand. Was last night common? Who did Ten turn to for solace, before Xuxi?

Hendery waved his fingers in front of Xuxi’s face to catch his attention, his bottom lip pushed out into a pout. He had crawled forward while Xuxi’s mind wandered, now close enough that he could touch Xuxi if he chose, but he stayed his hands as his cheeks started to burn a deeper shade of blue. The flush spread across the bridge of his nose like a stroke of paint. 

“You are thinking of him,” Hendery said in a voice brimming with stoppered emotion. Was it anger? Jealousy? He seemed to catch himself before the emotion could swell, and as he let out a measured sigh, the darker color across his cheeks slowly dissipated like ink in water. “Do you want to fuck him? Everyone wants to.” 

The word sounded especially crude, spilling from Hendery’s lips, and Xuxi stared without blinking as Hendery pulled at a fistful of fur by his knee until clumps of black hairs came away in his palm. “You know, I can dance, too. Why does the King not call for me?”

It was like his question earlier. Hendery truly didn’t understand, and even if he’d had the words, Xuxi did not think he could explain it to him. 

An object who saw himself as one could only see other objects.

.

At around midday, the servants came with a meal, and Sicheng lowered Xuxi’s muzzle with another warning and reminder that it could be used to subdue him. Xuxi ate with Hendery at his pool and met a couple of the slaves who dared to come near. They seemed disappointed to see that Xuxi’s teeth were unimpressively average in size, number, and variety, and they did not stay very long.

“The others don’t think you will survive the fight,” Hendery told him later, when their plates were clean and the servants were going around to pick up the discarded dishes. “There’s no point in getting to know you.”

“And you? What do you think?” Xuxi asked.

Hendery’s eyes seemed to flicker as he considered his answer. “You are bigger than the last fighter,” he said finally. “But the beast might be bigger yet.”

. 

“Didn’t we just trim him?” A small human man with his thick eyebrows furrowed in consternation stood before Xuxi in the baths as steam from the heated pool swirled around them and the two burly, muscled servants who had Xuxi’s arms twisted behind him in a locked hold. “Stars above, Atellans are hairy.”

Sicheng had left him at the entrance to the baths after a short explanation that they would now prepare him for the fight. Xuxi had expected a space in which to warm up and stretch out his muscles, not this: white marble all around, a heady floral scent rising from the water’s surface, steam that clouded his head and senses. Three guards had followed them into the baths, and Xuxi’s feet slipped over the slick tiled floors as he pushed back against the servants. The muzzle felt especially tight over his face as it grew warm from residual heat.

“Well? Go on. We’ve got a lot of work to do. Prince Kun will want him to be perfect,” the human said to the other servants.

What did they—?

They yanked him forward toward the pool and walked into the water, dragging Xuxi in with them. For a few steps, the water came to Xuxi’s waist, and then the bottom of the pool suddenly gave way, and Xuxi dropped underneath the surface with alarm, inhaling water, his lungs filling with it as he struggled between the servants. 

He had not been ready to be submerged and felt his air reserves rapidly depleting. His lungs burned. He kicked his feet. He grit his teeth and heard the pounding of his heart in his ears, like a fist knocking desperately against a door. 

Just as suddenly as he’d been pulled under, he was thrown to the surface again. Unable to open his mouth, Xuxi inhaled deeply and quickly through his nose, desperate to draw in more and more air.

They washed him like that, everywhere. His back, his front, under his arms, between his legs. Xuxi could find no purchase in the water to fight back, and soon enough he was half-drowned anyway, too preoccupied with trying to breathe when they let him up for air to focus on what they were doing to his body.

When they hauled him out of the water and dried him off with towels, Xuxi could hardly feel it, as his limbs were as numb as his head, everything buzzing slightly. He thought distantly that in preparing him for the fight, they were killing him.

Oils were slathered over his skin. The small human used a razor to shave off the short, bristly hairs that had grown since the last trimming between his legs, and he used another razor for the hair at Xuxi’s armpits. Xuxi was deliriously surprised he didn’t retrieve another to shave off Xuxi’s eyebrows.

They gave him simple undergarments to wear under loose red pants that tapered at his ankles. Xuxi drew these on over his legs and wondered if he could keep them after the fight. If he survived.

The human stood before him again as Xuxi sagged between the guards, inspecting his work and nodding with his lips set into a firm line of satisfaction. 

He held a small dish filled with dark red paint in one hand and dipped his forefinger into it. “For speed and for power,” he said, drawing patterns into Xuxi’s skin, low over his ribs and over the crest of his hip bone. “His Majesty will see you, now.”

.

The Prince’s wing was a long, winding walk from the rooms where the slaves and servants slept and bathed. As Xuxi was escorted through white halls and corridors, through a garden filled with black flora, through doorways that appeared suddenly in the walls as Sicheng approached them, he tried to remember each turn he took, each red Weishen tapestry he passed, in case he should need to navigate these halls on his own soon, and he was so distracted by his own efforts that he didn’t realize that they had stopped until the guards beside him released their holds on him and pushed him forward with so much force that he stumbled onto his knees.

When he raised his head, he was in a small room facing a raised dais, and the Crown Prince of Weishen sat on the pristine white throne at the top of the platform. A hand on the back of his neck pushed his gaze back down. Xuxi growled, reflexively fighting against it.

“Leave us.” Prince Kun's voice was rich and resonant, echoing off the bone-white walls.

Sicheng startled by Xuxi’s side, stepping forward with a jerky motion. “Your Highness—”

“He is muzzled,” Kun said. “He will not harm me.”

The dismissal in his tone made his words cut crisply through the air. Xuxi saw Sicheng’s shadow waver on the floor before he bowed, digging his fingers into the back of Xuxi’s neck as though in warning before releasing him and retreating from the dais. The guards retreated as well. There was a whisper of air across Xuxi’s back followed by the shuffling sound of the door sealing shut. 

They were alone. It was cold in the bare room, and Xuxi’s skin over his arms pebbled. Behind the throne, the red banner of Weishen hung. 

“Look at me,” Kun ordered.

Nostrils flaring, Xuxi did.

Kun was striking in appearance, his features strong and sharp, from the cut and slant of his brows to the angle of his jawline. The markings on his forehead, in between his eyes, reminded Xuxi of Sicheng’s markings, only Kun's were more detailed, and there was also a red stripe that began just under his bottom lip and disappeared under the high collar of his red and black robes. He drummed his fingers against the arm of the throne, the glint in his grey eyes reminding Xuxi of flint.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Kun asked bluntly.

Xuxi stared, not understanding. His calves tightened under his thighs, as though preparing himself to spring forward. 

“Go on,” Kun continued, smirking now. “I dare you to try.”

The muzzle cut into Xuxi’s cheeks, a constant reminder of his position, his power, which was none. Even if he could attack the Prince and overcome him, what then? He didn’t know where they were. He didn’t know if he could get out. He didn’t know what getting out even meant now that he was no longer on Atella. He sank back onto his heels, releasing the tension in his muscles, and Kun, seeing this, groaned and drooped his head back in boredom.

Kun snapped his fingers. Xuxi bit back a surprised cry when a spark from the muzzle fizzled across his skin. The stories of the weapons the Weishenin wielded in their battles and wars flitted across Xuxi’s mind rapidly. It was believed they could manipulate fire that could travel through water. Electricity. Energy. Was Kun controlling the muzzle from a distance? 

“You won’t do it, will you? That’s good, I suppose. That you know your place.” He sighed and leaned to the side of the throne, propping his chin up into the heel of his palm. “Though I had thought you would be fiercer when I saw you. I need you to win, after all.”

A pause wherein Xuxi felt that the room itself was breathing. The hum of electricity was all around him. His hair stood on end. 

Kun rose and said, “Stand up. Let me look at you.”

Xuxi stood on feet that felt as heavy as lead. Kun took the steps from the dais at a leisurely pace, eyes never leaving Xuxi’s body. When he was close enough to touch, he reached out with a pale hand and curved his palm over Xuxi’s rounded, muscled shoulder. A shudder ran through Xuxi at the contact, and Kun hummed.

His hand came away slick with oil that had not yet sunk into Xuxi’s skin. “You are well-built and handsome for your kind,” he admired aloud, circling Xuxi with a predatory gaze. “You must win. But not right away. You need to make it entertaining, after all. What do you want, as a reward, tonight?”

A reward? Was he being given a choice? Xuxi blinked again as the question registered in his brain. Kun had finished his circling of Xuxi’s body and stood before him now, expecting an answer. His eyes reminded Xuxi of storm clouds.

“Food? Drink? Slaves?” Kun continued. He cupped his palm around the base of Xuxi’s skull, squeezing, and the muzzle dropped from Xuxi’s face, twisting into a collar. Xuxi wanted to be rid of it.

“My freedom,” Xuxi said, ears ringing with hope.

Kun barked out a cruel laugh. “Something within reason.”

Xuxi thought of Ten. His small, careful hands. His pink mouth. The way he trembled against Xuxi’s chest. He worked his jaw looser. “Then, I want Ten,” Xuxi said with a dry throat.

Kun's expression froze, but his eyes darkened like they were filling with thunder. “Ten? The Saphyrian?”

Xuxi nodded, swallowing with difficulty. 

“You are with him in the menagerie,” Kun said. “You can have him there.”

“Alone,” Xuxi choked out. Safe.

Kun held him by the back of his neck for a long, heavy moment. Energy buzzed along Xuxi’s skin. Caressing, threatening. Finally, Kun squeezed him again and the muzzle returned to its place around Xuxi’s face. He turned and began to walk back up the dais. “I see,” he said. “You have exquisite taste.”

He sat back on his throne and waved his hand in the air as an afterthought. Behind Xuxi, the door opened. Sicheng and the guards fetched him from Kun's presence, dragging him out.

.


	4. Chapter 4

It was hard to see through the thin fabric of the blindfold over his eyes, but not impossible. In the pricks of visibility between the black threads, Xuxi saw the backs of the guards escorting him, their red robes like splashes of dark blood against white walls. When he felt a drop in temperature and humidity in the shiver that raced over his skin, he knew they were no longer inside. He smelled water, the salty foam of the sea, could almost taste the brine on his tongue. He heard waves churning. Underneath his bare feet, a rough stone pathway became stairs, and Xuxi and his troupe of guards began their downward descent, the guards keeping their grips on his arms so he would not lose balance as his wrists were bound and he would not be able to catch himself if he fell.

Xuxi noticed the cheering of a crowd in the distance like the rumble of a storm. It began to grow in volume the lower they climbed, until the noise became deafening, until he could not discern it from the crashing of waves. When Xuxi stumbled on the final step, receiving no warning that they were on level ground again, he felt sand between his toes. 

They were on a beach. 

The guards on either side of Xuxi marched him a dozen steps before they pulled on his arms and stilled. 

Xuxi froze, his chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. His heart was pounding hard, but he would not let it show. Around him, the din of the crowd pushed against his ears, his temples. He heard calls for blood.

The blindfold was ripped from around his eyes, and Xuxi blinked against the swollen darkness. 

It took a moment for his pupils to dilate and absorb the lights that shone out from the cliff-face behind him. They illuminated a shallow, wide crater that had been carved into the sand. The whole crater was half the size of the den, and closed off from the outside world by a dome of glass so clear and transparent Xuxi would not have noticed it if the sand was not rising up around it in some places. On one side of the crater was the black, rolling sea. On the other side, rows of stadium-style benches eventually melted into the cliff-face. People spilled over each other in the seats, fighting for a glimpse of Xuxi and his entrance, pushing at each other for a better look at the fighter. 

Xuxi’s blood hummed in his veins as he took in the scene in its entirety. There were so many people, so many Weishenin, all here to watch the fight. The moon was high in the sky but offered little light compared to the moons orbiting Atella, and he found himself squinting against the garish, harsh lights that had been installed in the cliff-face.

A raised platform in the center of the benches contained two thrones.

The Prince sat on one of them, the red mark on his chin stark against his pale skin. Hendery, clothed in pretty white robes that were embroidered all over with a pattern of red blossoms, sat daintily on the Prince’s lap. On the other throne was a man Xuxi had never seen before, but he wore the same mark on his forehead between his eyes as the Prince. The red stripe underneath his chin was thicker, like a curtain of blood.

The King. 

He wore thick, regal robes and sat with his shoulders squared and wide. Xuxi followed the length of the chain that dangled from the King's hand and snarled under his breath when he saw it ended with the black collar around Ten’s neck. The King curled the chain round and round his knuckles absently, like an afterthought, pulling it taut and slack, taut and slack, and Ten, on his knees by the King's feet, swayed and fell with each pull, his shoulder slipping out of his red robes.

“Move it,” one of the guards hissed when Xuxi stumbled over his suddenly heavy feet.

Sicheng was waiting for him at the glass dome. “Do not die in the first five minutes,” he said as he raised his hand to lower Xuxi’s muzzle. Xuxi felt the press of his finger against the base of his skull. “At least try to make it interesting.”

A growl ripped out of his throat at Sicheng, who stumbled back in surprise, as one of the guards removed the restraints around his wrists. “I’ll live,” Xuxi promised, glaring at him. The humming in his blood grew louder.

The glass parted on an invisible seam, and he was shoved inside the ring by all three of the guards closest to him, stumbling, kicking up sand. When he regained his footing, another growl ready to rip from his lips, he turned just in time to watch the glass seal itself up again. 

Instantly, the cacophony of the crowd became muddled and muted as though he were underwater. He swiveled on his feet, trying to find Hendery's and Ten's faces in the crowd. It was hot in the ring under the glass, and sweat was already prickling over his skin, gathering above his upper lip. From within the dome the audience was distorted, towering over him in the concave reflection of the glass, their individual faces lost in shadow. 

Somehow, though, he could see the thrones. He could see the Prince, and the King, and their pets, and he wanted Ten to look at him. To see him. But Ten's eyes were blank and he went wherever the King pulled, and while Xuxi watched, the King dragged Ten closer to him by the chain, positioning his head to rest on his knee. He carded thick fingers through Ten's silver hair, his teeth flashing in a mocking grin. 

Had the Prince told his father of Xuxi's request if he won? 

Xuxi forced himself to look away, meeting Hendery's gaze by chance and frowning when he saw how Hendery's eyes were glowing with urgency. With warning. The Siren raised an unsteady hand and pointed at something over Xuxi's right shoulder.

The glass split again, and the cheers from the crowd spilled into the arena. Eight soldiers scurried in, hefting a nightcrawler between them. A cloud of dust and sand bloomed up around the beast when they dropped it unceremoniously to the ground and then fled, the glass sealing behind them. 

The beast was sedated, but it began to regain consciousness as soon as it hit the ground. It rolled its massive head from side to side, pushing itself up onto all fours, growling low and constant. It steadied itself, and its blue gaze swung to Xuxi. A flicker passed through its eyes, and Xuxi understood it as the moment the beast registered him as a threat. He held his breath, waiting. The beast threw its head back and roared, the deep intensity of the sound making Xuxi’s chest rumble.

The beast was rank, foul, and stank of mold. Xuxi could tell right away that it was not a beast in its prime, as the muscles sagged from its bones and foam dripped from its jaws, but it was still huge and formidable, still wild. Xuxi thought to himself that there was a chance he might die.

Just as it did in Hendery's vision, the beast lunged, and it was as quick as a shadow in the corner of Xuxi's eye. Xuxi dove to the left and rolled across the sand, coming up onto his feet and narrowly missing the swipe of the beast's claws over his shoulders, stumbling back as the beast lunged again. Through the glass, the cheering from the crowd swelled as they watched the series of attacks. 

Sicheng had demanded five minutes, but Xuxi would try to give him longer. 

He quickly found a rhythm to it; the beast would lunge and Xuxi would dive and emerge on its other side, unscathed. It would roar in frustration before lunging again, and again it would miss its target. Instinct took over. Xuxi reveled in the numbness that overtook his mind as they danced, in the burn rippling through his muscles after so long under containment and restraint. He felt sand between his teeth, under his fingernails. He panted with exertion. He felt a thrill like a rush of joy when he saw the beast stumbling, tiring.

Then he looked up at the thrones.

Ten was pulling at the collar around his neck, his eyes wide and lucid, his horns glowing bright. Xuxi could taste his fear in the air, as thick as honey, and he nearly lost himself in it, the rest of the world falling away like the sand through his fingers. He was overcome with the need to get to him.

He rushed at the glass to get to Ten, taking huge strides across the crater's floor, stretching out his arm, opening his mouth to call for him—

—and howled when the beast tackled him from the side, bringing him to the ground. Its jaw snapped closed by Xuxi's ear.

He could hear Ten screaming even though his ears were ringing. Did he scream for himself, or for Xuxi? 

Xuxi's heart pounded hard, a drum driving him to fight. To survive. The beast ripped and tore at Xuxi's arms, his chest, and the sand finally grew dark with blood. Xuxi kicked and punched and pushed, but it was no use now that the beast had felled him. It was like trying to move a stone wall with his bare hands. He felt himself growing weaker as the buzzing in his ears grew, as his field of vision narrowed to a tunnel containing the beast's maw.

Then, through the fog, he heard: _"Xuxi, move! Its left hind leg_ — _!"_

It was like a command had zipped through his body. He felt compelled. He moved as though he were an arrow on a string being pulled by the fingers of a god, and then came the release.

He surged upwards and over, tossing the nightcrawler onto its side and reaching for its left hind leg. He wrenched it out of alignment, hearing a crack, and the beast went still with a harsh cry. It bucked and frothed at the mouth when Xuxi climbed onto its back, but with its leg broken and useless, it could not gain leverage, and it choked and wheezed as Xuxi squeezed his thick arms around its neck, crushing its throat.

Xuxi could feel the life draining out of it as it twitched in his arms. He watched the Prince for a chink in his unfeeling mask. He watched the King. Ten lay over his knee again, docile after another dose of whatever the Weishenin guards carried in their flasks. Xuxi broke the beast's neck with a twist of his whole torso, never losing the King's eye, which twitched in displeasure. The King frowned like he had two hooks dragging down the corners of his mouth.

The crowd was quiet and still. Xuxi had won.

Slowly, they began to cheer.

.

The guards blindfolded him again and brought him to a small, private room in the Prince's wing. When the silk slid from his eyes, Xuxi saw the room, saw the bed in the corner and the table with two chairs by the window slats, but the guards did not pause at either and instead walked Xuxi to a door that led to a bathing chamber. The small human from before stood among the marble walls and floor, accompanied by only one guard who pointed at Xuxi's muzzle threateningly and waved his baton around. 

Xuxi's blood was still singing and hot; he snapped his teeth at the guard and got an electric shock that brought him to his knees in return. The small human tutted and shook his head.

"The faster you wash up, the faster you get your reward," he said.

Xuxi stilled and looked at him in disbelief, shaking the cloudiness from his mind that the shock had brought on, and he entered the bathing basin when he was pointed in its direction, the soapy, warm water stinging the wounds on his arms and chest that were already knitting closed. He would be completely healed by morning, maybe sooner. He trembled with adrenaline, with the thought of being with Ten.

Would Ten look at him differently now, after the fight? Did he believe in the stories Hendery believed in? Xuxi dreaded seeing the look on Ten's face, thinking for certain it would be one of disgust and horror, and then he wondered if Ten would be lucid at all when he saw him. By now, Xuxi understood they kept the Saphyrian drugged more often than not, so that he would be pliant and loose and unable to fight back.

He stepped out of the bath and allowed the human to towel him dry. He appreciated how the bathing attendant was careful with his wounds. "What is your name?" Xuxi grunted at him when he began to massage oils into the skin of his arms and legs.

The human paused, brought out of his meditative work. "Dejun," he said quietly.

"Dejun," Xuxi repeated.

"You fought well," Dejun said. "I was impressed."

"It was that, or die," Xuxi said, and the bluntness of his words made Dejun duck his eyes as he finished roaming his soft hands over Xuxi's body.

"We all do what we must to live," Dejun whispered. His voice, echoing within the walls of the bathing chamber, was like a song.

.

Xuxi paced the room, waiting, alone, the red robe they’d given him billowing out behind him. He knew there were guards posted beyond the door, but Dejun had left and now everything outside of his body was quiet while thoughts crowded his mind.

What was taking so long? Would the Prince keep his word? Would they keep him here, in this room, from now on? What if he never saw Ten again except for the glimpses of him sat at the King’s feet, head heavy and mind empty? A doll. A plaything. 

He grunted sharply to help dispel the thoughts, the sound carrying over his skin. He felt that he was still burning up inside. He needed release. He needed to see Ten.

Sometime later, the door opened. By then Xuxi had already exhausted his pacing, and he glowered at whoever was entering from his seat on the edge of the bed.

It was Prince Kun.

Following closely behind him were a pair of slaves carrying trays of food and drink. Xuxi recognized one of the slaves, the woman with broken gossamer wings. She would not look at him.

Kun paused as the slaves placed the food on the table under the window. They stood to the side with hands folded after, quiet and still, like they were part of the decor, and Xuxi’s eyes roved over the display of food. He sniffed something familiar in the air. Strong, pungent, aromatic.

Xuxi jumped up from the bed and strode forward, already salivating. Grilled meat.

He fell upon it voraciously, realizing simultaneously how starved he was, his belly gurgling with emptiness. The meat was on skewers and glazed with a thin, sweet sauce that reminded Xuxi of the berries back home. He stuffed one into his mouth whole and started chewing when Kun cleared his throat.

Xuxi whipped his head around to glare at the intrusion, but Kun narrowed his eyes coolly back.

“Next time you will bow when I enter,” he said.

Xuxi snorted. His blood was thick and hot and humming, and he had food to fill his belly—real food, not the slimy kelp or the insubstantial fish—and he’d won. He’d defeated a monster. Prince Kun was small compared to the beast.

Heat built quickly around his neck at his collar. Then came the fire in his veins.

Xuxi fell to his knees as his vision blacked out, and when he opened his eyes again he was heaving for breath on all fours, his pathetic mouthful of food spat out onto the floor.

“That’s better,” Kun said. “I have brought you food and drink for your victory. Let’s not waste it. Get up. Sit with me.”

Xuxi pushed himself up to his knees. Only when he was certain he could stand without his vision dangerously spotting did he crawl into one of the chairs at the table. One of the slaves crept forward and wordlessly cleaned up Xuxi’s mess. Kun sat opposite Xuxi, his grey eyes like a mirror.

“Eat,” Kun commanded.

Xuxi ate because he was hungry. Because he didn’t know when he’d see food again. Kun poured him a drink from a pitcher and smirked when Xuxi eyed it warily. “It is not poisoned,” he said, taking the cup and drinking from it once before handing it to Xuxi again. “Or are you worried it’s nectar?”

“Nectar?” Xuxi asked before he could stop himself.

“The Saphyrian drink,” Kun said. “It isn’t that.”

Xuxi sipped from the cup cautiously. It was just water, but he found it sweet and delicious and crisp, and he drained the whole cup in three large gulps. The realization of his thirst made him hungrier. He finished one of the platters of food without pausing to take a breath, and all the while Kun watched him, pouring him more water, encouraging him to try this, or that.

The treatment made Xuxi suspicious. “Where is Ten?” he asked.

A shadow passed over the Prince’s eyes, like a curtain being closed. “Ten is with the King,” he said, feigning disinterest.

Xuxi started on the second platter. He wasn't sure how the Prince expected him to behave. Xuxi was his slave, but he was also a fighter who had killed a nightcrawler and surely provided his men, his soldiers, ample entertainment. Perhaps he had some value or worth to Kun, now. He had been muzzled for much of his time with the Weishenin so far, but now the muzzle was down, even though the collar remained.

The lack of a muzzle did not mean an invitation to speak. At least Xuxi didn't think it did, but he could test the theory. Kun’s commands were few and far between. _Eat. Sit. Drink this._ And before, he had asked for Xuxi's opinion. For Xuxi to tell him what he wanted.

It was not how slaves were normally treated on Atella. He did not think this was how slaves were normally treated with the Weishen, either.

Xuxi pushed.

"Will he come later?" Xuxi asked.

Kun’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally, a tightening of his expression. "He will not come, tonight."

The floor beneath Xuxi's feet was suddenly cold as ice, and his lungs compressed inside of him. Of course he was not coming. Who was Xuxi to think he would be given something he wanted? He was just a slave to the Empire. He felt as though Kun had dangled Ten in front of him like a toy before a child. It angered him to be manipulated in such a way.

But then Kun continued, "He is not mine to give to you, yet."

Anger gave way to cautious curiosity. "Yet?"

"The King keeps him for himself," Kun said. He spoke as though the King were not his father. The emotional distance in his words struck Xuxi as odd. Were all the royals in Weishen this cold with each other? Disdain dripped from Kun’s tongue.

"You want him," Xuxi realized aloud.

"I do." Kun exhaled. It sounded like a sigh. "I have made a bet with the King. Three fights, three wins. Then Ten is mine."

"And what about me?"

Kun quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "You will win the fights, of course. You've won the first already."

"You promised me Ten."

This time Xuxi was ready for the shock when it wracked through him, and he grit his teeth and clenched his fists on top of the table until it passed. His vision spotted but didn’t fade. He willed his muscles to relax and cracked his neck with a grunt as sweat rolled down the sides of his face.

“I promised you nothing, slave,” Kun hissed. His cheeks were flushed with color, and his eyes were nearly black with poorly concealed contempt. “Ten will be my prize before he is yours.”

“But without me, you cannot have him,” Xuxi growled, feeling the heat start to rise in his blood. His ears ringing. His breath coming faster and faster. He would not give the Prince what he wanted. He would not give him the satisfaction. Ten’s sweet scent and soft cries were buried deep in Xuxi’s mind, sacred things that he would not see sullied in this world. He could refuse to fight. He could stall. He could keep Ten from this monster, this slaver.

“You are easier to read than lines in a manuscript,” Kun said, leaning forward over the table. “If you refuse to fight, how long do you think Ten will last as a bed slave to the King? They _beg_ for death before he is done with them. I know this.”

Xuxi’s breath froze in his lungs. He knew in his heart that Kun was speaking the truth, but how could he trust that Kun would be any better than his father, the King?

Kun pushed his seat back and stood in the tense silence that followed, looking down his nose at Xuxi with his lips pressed together in a firm, tight line. He reached over to raise the muzzle around Xuxi’s face, and Xuxi was so lost in thought that he barely felt it settle. The feeling of the metal wires was like hands cupped around his face. Kun was done giving him leave to speak.

“I am giving you Yuqi tonight as a reward,” Kun announced quietly. “Enjoy yourself. You will fight again in a week.”

The door opened, and servants poured in to clear away the plates. When they left, Kun went with them, and the door closed again. At Xuxi’s side stood the girl with the broken gossamer wings. She put her hand on his shoulder, her touch as light as fine dust.

.


	5. Chapter 5

Yuqi told him it was uncomfortable for her to sleep on her back, so when Xuxi woke in the morning it was to her arm slung over his chest, her face planted into the pillow they shared. Her wings shivered with each long breath, reflecting iridescent crystals of light throughout the room. Xuxi plucked her arm from his chest and tucked it back against her side, and Yuqi made a noise of annoyance at being disturbed, turning her face until she could squint at Xuxi with narrowed ruby eyes.

“Did you not sleep?” she asked, words slightly slurred and sticky in her mouth.

No, not really. He’d been plagued in his dreams by flashes of the nightcrawler’s slimy, deadly maw, by Ten’s voice calling out to him in the dark, by the feeling of being trapped under a boulder that was steadily growing denser and heavier. Xuxi lifted his hand and pinched his fingers together. _A little._

Yuqi nodded, rubbing her cheek against the pillow. She said, “I slept like a baby. Best night since arriving. You’re tropically warm and this bedding is so much better than the furs.” She wormed her way back into the silken sheets with a pleased sigh, putting some distance between their bodies. “You should rest more. Who knows what they’ll have you do next.”

Xuxi grunted to acknowledge that he’d heard, rolling onto his back. He was surprised he managed to be asleep for as long as he had through the night. Cautiously, he closed his eyes again. 

The nightcrawler was waiting for him behind his eyelids. With a strangled gasp, Xuxi sat up in bed, blinking away the image.

“Urgh!” Yuqi jolted in surprise at Xuxi’s sudden movement and lifted herself up onto her elbows so that she could scowl at him properly. “What is it?”

Xuxi could not speak, so Yuqi put her hand over his forearm and waited, their breaths syncing as she stared at him. He still didn’t understand how she did it—she had explained last night that she didn’t _see_ his thoughts so much as _feel_ them—but she’d been able to tell pretty accurately what had been on Xuxi’s mind the few times they’d sustained touches before they had both fallen asleep on top of the covers.

“Stop thinking about the nightcrawler, Xuxi,” Yuqi said.

Xuxi rolled his eyes at her.

“I know, I know! You can’t help it. Well, think really intentionally about something else.”

Now he squinted at her in exasperation, but her lips were firm in an immutable pout and her eyes were hard and glittering, like precious stones. So he thought of Ten and the playful sway of his hips when he first approached Xuxi. His small, gentle hands. How he’d fought against the guards for Xuxi without even knowing him. How he fit against Xuxi’s body that night in the pod, skin to skin, muscle to muscle. He’d smelled like honey, floral and sweet. Something like affection bubbled in his stomach.

“Ew!” Yuqi pulled her hand back from Xuxi’s forearm and slapped him lightly over his shoulder. It felt like a fly grazing past him. “Don’t think about that stuff when I’m touching you!”

Xuxi grunted, a puff of air escaping through his lips, through the wires of his muzzle, and rubbed his chest where Yuqi had smacked him. He shook his head with furrowed brows.

Yuqi said, “Don’t tell me you’re not thinking of sex. I could feel it!”

Xuxi resisted the urge to allow his mind tumble into the gutter. He certainly appreciated Ten’s beauty, his magnetism, the sensual curves in the lines of his body, but he was drawn to Ten for more than his appearance and the myth of sex surrounding the Saphyrian race. He didn’t know why quite yet. 

Perhaps it was because he believed that, if given the chance, Ten would treat him well, and fairly. Like an equal. Or perhaps because he had noticed right away in Ten a fighting spirit that he did not wish to see quelled. Or perhaps it was because he had always had a soft spot for small, hopeless things, like that boy back on Atella.

He didn’t know how to translate these thoughts into feelings for Yuqi to interpret, so he didn’t bother trying. In another moment the door was opened anyway, two guards and two servants filing in, and they were both whisked back to the menagerie of slaves.

.

The den fell silent when Xuxi and Yuqi walked through the doors. One of the guards gave Yuqi a less-than-gentle nudge and she fell forward onto her feet heavily, keeping her eyes downcast despite the anger Xuxi could feel coming off of her in waves. It was a far cry from her behavior with him last night: playful, bantering, demanding once she understood Xuxi wasn't going to hurt her. He caught her by the elbow and threw a glare over his shoulder at the guard who had pushed her, and he was surprised when the guard shrank back with his baton raised in defense.

Fear flashed in the guard's narrowed eyes.

The other guard stepped forward, intervening, and a silent exchange passed between them that ended with the first lowering his baton reluctantly.

“Fighter or not, he’s still a slave,” the first guard complained mulishly under his breath.

“But he’s the _Prince’s_ fighter and slave,” the other guard clarified. He turned to Xuxi and Yuqi and gestured for them to continue into the menagerie, so Xuxi went, and Yuqi trailed behind, and as they walked past the fabric partitions Xuxi could feel the eyes of the other slaves following him while he made his way to his pod. The guards left, not needing to join the ranks already lining the walls. 

Yuqi didn’t stay with Xuxi for long. She was a handmaiden and popular among the court’s ladies for her quickness, her intuition, her nimble fingers that could tame any head of hair into a crown of braids and ropes, and was soon called away to attend to a lady. Other slaves came and went throughout the morning, completing the duties they’d been assigned. Some were entertainers; most were slaves who were bound to the domestic work of cleaning and cooking. There were servants, too, and the only difference Xuxi could see between a slave and a servant now that he was paying more attention was that the servants were all Weishenin and the slaves were not.

He realized he didn’t have an assignment or a duty and was left to idle by himself in his pod. Even Hendery, Kun’s trophy and pet, was nowhere to be seen.

 _Who knows what they’ll have you do next,_ Yuqi had said. Xuxi wondered if the Weishenin had thought he’d be dead by now, killed by the beast, and that was why there was nothing for him.

The remains and slim pickings of the morning meal were scattered across a lone, long table pushed against the wall. Xuxi looked over the globs of fish that were already starting to stink with his mouth puckered in distaste. He couldn’t eat, anyway, as no one had come by to lower his muzzle. His stomach growled and grumbled with the memory of the grilled meat last night. 

Time ticked by slowly. Xuxi watched the door like a guard dog, unsure what he was waiting for, trying not to think about the dome in the sand last night, which of course made him think of it _more_. When he noticed his circular trains of thought, he wondered intently if Kun might call for him again, or Sicheng, or even the King. He hoped uneasily that the guards might see him doing nothing and put him to some work. But no orders came, and by the time midday arrived, he’d allowed his shoulders to release some of their tension. 

He began to notice the changing of the guards. Since there were multiple stationed within the room and at the doors, they didn’t switch out all together or at the same time. Xuxi estimated that every half hour, one guard’s shift ended and a new guard came to replace them. With 8 guards stationed at the menagerie, that meant each guard’s shift was about four hours—if Xuxi was estimating the time accurately. When the double doors opened at the front all the guards turned toward it for a moment, taking measure of the person or persons entering, deciding in that split second whether to engage or remain where they were.

It became a game to Xuxi, trying to predict which guard was switching out at the end of each shift. He usually got it right.

The door opened again and, predictably to Xuxi, the guards straightened and turned their gazes to the doorway. Then they relaxed when they saw it was Hendery and Ten being escorted by one of their own back into the den.

Xuxi shot up to his feet, stumbling to find his footing when the blood rushed out of his brain and black spots danced in his field of vision. Both Hendery and Ten were draped in pale blue robes, tied loosely at the waist, the trains and sleeves fluttering behind them as they approached Xuxi by his pod.

“Xuxi!” Hendery called out. He latched onto Xuxi’s arm and blinked up at him, eyes glowing with excitement. “You’re back! Yesterday was incredible. You were so great! You killed the beast!”

A sour feeling ignited in Xuxi’s gut as he nodded. 

“Oh, I wish you could talk,” Hendery rambled as he dragged Xuxi over to his own pod. Xuxi glanced over his shoulder to see that Ten was following at a distance, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression unreadable. He itched to touch him, to talk to him, but he wasn't sure how to approach him. So far in all their interactions together, Ten had been the one to reach out first. “I want to know how it felt when you defeated it!" Hendery continued. "When you bested it! Did you hear the crowd cheering for you?”

Again, Xuxi nodded, trying to smile at Hendery with his eyes, the discomfort growing in his belly. He had killed the beast yesterday. He had felt its pulse thrum under his forearm and its body go limp. He didn’t think he would ever be able to forget the way it frothed at the mouth, the way its eyes rolled back into its skull as it died.

Ten spoke up from behind them in a soft voice that pierced through Xuxi’s skin. “Hendery, maybe Xuxi doesn’t want to be reminded of it.” 

“Don’t forget it was _you_ who called out to Xuxi in his time of need!” Hendery shot back with a gleeful glint in his eye.

“Believe me, it didn’t bring me any joy,” Ten drawled. “When you think about it, are we really any different from those nightcrawlers they throw into the ring?”

Hendery turned to Ten sharply. “Of course we are,” he insisted, stamping his foot. “We—” He lifted one elegant, slim wrist in the air, letting the pale blue sleeve slip down to his elbow as he twirled his hand around, dancing with it “—are precious to the Empire.”

Ten rolled his eyes. “Perhaps.”

“What do you mean? You are the King’s favorite! You're pretty much _the most_ precious!” Hendery insisted. They had reached his pod. Hendery released his hold on Xuxi’s bicep so that he could splash into the water with a bright laugh. He did not disrobe before sinking into a seat in the water coming up nearly to his shoulders, fabric billowing around him on the surface like great clouds. 

Ten sat at the edge of the pod with his knees hugged to his chest, and Xuxi copied the movement and posture, keeping an arm’s distance between them. “Being the King’s favorite doesn’t mean I’m indispensable,” Ten said quietly.

“That’s exactly what it means,” Hendery said, churlish and childish with bright blue cheeks, huffing as he threw himself backwards with a great splash. 

Hendery did not re-emerge, and Xuxi found himself counting the seconds in his head slowly as bubbles popped across the water’s surface. When he’d reached twenty, Xuxi looked to Ten in worry, silently wondering if someone should pull Hendery up for air, and Ten shook his head with a tiny smile playing over his lips. 

“He’s a Siren; he’ll be fine. He just doesn’t want to hear my hard truths. He can sleep like that, you know?” Xuxi raised both eyebrows in interest, and Ten smirked, adding in a whisper, “Yes, he sleeps like that. Underwater. In blissful ignorance.”

Ten laughed quietly. To Xuxi, it did not sound like a mean laugh at the joke he’d made at Hendery’s expense, but rather like something sad, laced with longing. Did Ten wish for Hendery’s bliss? Was that something a slave like Ten could ever get back? 

Xuxi reached out and put his hand over Ten’s on the floor of the den, close to the edge of Hendery’s pod, and a visible shiver raced up Ten's spine, his shoulders stiffening. The slow rise and fall of his chest was hypnotizing. Worried he'd overstepped or made Ten uncomfortable with physical touch, Xuxi almost pulled away, but then Ten turned his hand over beneath Xuxi’s so that their palms were touching.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Ten said. 

Xuxi curled his fingers lightly, grasping but not taking, ready for Ten to take his hand back and surprised when he didn’t. His skin was as soft as flower petals. _I’m glad you are too,_ he wasn’t able to say.

He looked at their hands and thought of how easily he’d be able to crush Ten’s fingers in his own. Long, elegant, and manicured, Ten’s nails were trimmed and glossy, reminding Xuxi of fish scales. His gaze traveled up to Ten’s wrist, where the skin was discolored with faded purple in thick swaths. He trailed his thumb over a bruise and held his breath when Ten gasped softly.

“Hendery and I were at our dance lesson,” Ten explained, watching Xuxi’s thumb trace over him. “It’s nothing.”

Xuxi drew Ten’s hand up for closer inspection, turning his wrist gently under his eye, examining the bruise and letting his disbelief in Ten’s words show in the dip of his brows. The bruise went all the way around, like Ten had been cuffed. It criss-crossed over his skin, like rope looping around and around, cutting into him.

Xuxi did not believe it was nothing. He remembered the collar around Ten's neck and the way the King had yanked him about like nothing more than a rag doll, and he felt an icy chill shoot down his vertebrae at the thought of what the King's rage might have looked like after Xuxi had won the fight. After Ten had helped him regain his senses in the ring. His eyes wandered over Ten's form, checking for more bruises, and saw them now as sooty shadows over Ten's skin at his neck, over his forearms, at his ankles. He swiped his thumb with a bit more pressure over Ten's wrist and saw the color of the bruise deepen.

The pad of his thumb was dark with a pigmented cream that Ten had used to cover up.

Ten snatched his wrist out of Xuxi’s lax hold with a scowl, and a snarl at the sudden ripping motion fell out of Xuxi’s mouth. Ten snarled right back, and Xuxi fell silent with a sinking feeling in his stomach, chastised and chagrined. 

“I said it’s nothing,” Ten said again, scrambling to stand. “C’mon, they’ll bring lunch soon.”

.


	6. Chapter 6

When the servants came to set up the midday meal, Ten made himself busy preparing two plates of food, one plate piled high with slices of white fish and a scoop of what seemed to be a salad made from various sea vegetables, and the other holding some limp, gray flatbread topped with a scattered handful of dark purple berries. He did this so quickly that Xuxi was still standing in front of Sicheng getting his muzzle lowered by the time Ten had taken himself and both plates back to Hendery’s pod, where he sat at the edge and nibbled on a piece of the flatbread. 

“Make sure you eat your fill,” Sicheng said before Xuxi, bringing Xuxi’s attention back to what was in front of him, Sicheng’s red robes and golden ornaments bright in the drab room. He worked his freed jaw loose carefully, past the aching stiffness that came with being locked into one position for hours. “You have a role to fulfill here, now.”

“A role?” Xuxi’s voice was scratchy from lack of use. He cleared his throat and realized just how thirsty he was. The pads of his fingers felt dry, dusty.

“Fighter,” Sicheng explained, quirking a brow and stepping away. He turned, and two guards that had flanked him came forward to fill the space he’d occupied to block Xuxi’s path forward, corralling him towards the food. They hovered close as Xuxi, wondering what Sicheng meant by what he said, approached the tables slowly. 

He knew Kun expected him to win three fights for Ten. Would he continue fighting after that? Was this to be his existence—killing nightcrawlers for the amusement of the Empire's battle-hardened, entitled imperial soldiers? For the amusement of the Prince and the King?

He’d rather have stayed in the mines.

The sparse crowd of slaves at the tables regarded him with narrowed eyes and disdain heavy in the shape of their lips, parting like tall blades of grass when he was near and leaving his path to the food perfectly clear. He could feel himself being watched by everyone and tried not to let the way it made his ears burn and his blood buzz distract him from filling his plate. 

No one spoke to him. Maybe they still believed he could not speak even without the muzzle, that he was a dumb animal who knew only how to rip, and tear, and maim. Even before the fight, the slaves regarded him warily, letting his Atellan features cast him as a vicious beast, and now, after it, he was sure they saw him only as a killer. 

The conversation happening in pockets around the buffet was low, and much of it was not in Weishenin, so he couldn’t make out what the other slaves were saying, but the tone was clear: he would not be welcome to eat with them.

His stomach grumbled loudly. The serving utensil for the salad was some two-pronged fork-thing and the slimy, chopped sea vegetables kept sliding off of it. Frustrated, he stabbed a couple of green and bluish chunks and smacked them onto his plate. A huddle of slaves nearby gasped at the action.

Though he had only known her for a night, he wished Yuqi were here with him, if only to distract him from the other slaves’ withering attentions. Or that Hendery had come up for air and joined him, or that Ten had waited for him so they could fill their plates together. 

It wasn’t like he had friends back on Atella, and he rarely reminisced about family. There wasn’t anyone from the mines that he  _ missed _ , but still, in the mines he had not stood out like this. In the mines he had been a part of a whole, and in that he at least had felt a kinship to the other slaves in their shared misery. 

Ten had asked Hendery,  _ Are we really any different from those nightcrawlers they throw into the ring? _ And Xuxi thought he was not any different from them at all. When the nightcrawlers won, did they get their rewards in private cages, too?

“Xuxi?” Ten’s voice was sweet as a song, ringing out from behind Xuxi, who looked down at his plate and wondered when he’d piled on so much fish. He threw his glance behind his shoulder, heart drumming in his chest. Ten was beckoning him with his hand in the air. “Come and sit.”

It was the distraction he needed—from his own thoughts and from the stares of the other slaves and servants—and he put his head down and marched back to Hendery’s pod, sitting down cross-legged and beginning to scarf down his food.

Compared to Xuxi, Ten ate daintily, tearing the food into bite-sized pieces before pushing the morsels between his lips. He left much of the plate of white fish untouched, claiming that it was reserved for Hendery whenever he was finished with his nap or his sulk, or both. 

Xuxi nodded, grunting, slowing. The fish went down his throat with difficulty, leaving a greasy aftertaste. It was the first time Xuxi had his muzzle lowered around Ten, and he couldn’t think of anything to say. The beginnings of questions formed in his mind before they fizzled out behind his sharp teeth. He worried his voice would be too rough against the softness of Ten’s skin. 

He wanted to ask about the bruises dappling Ten's wrists and forearms, his neck.

The words would not come.

“Do you want to speak in Atellan?” Ten asked in Xuxi’s native tongue, startling Xuxi so much that his plate nearly fell from his hands. 

Xuxi stared at him, his mouth slack. “Um,” he said.

“If you’re more comfortable with it,” Ten continued, setting his plate onto the floor and shifting to swing his feet around to one side. He looked up at Xuxi under the sweeping fan of his eyelashes. Demure, coquettish. Xuxi remembered how silken smooth the downy fuzz over Ten’s horns had felt under his thumb. “It’s good for me to practice.”

“How did you learn to speak it?” Xuxi asked.

The corners of Ten’s lips twitched upward, but he didn’t quite smile. “I learned from when I was young. Many languages. Some customs. To broaden my appeal.”

“You’re appealing without all that,” Xuxi blurted out, feeling his cheeks burn as soon as the words left his mouth.

Ten threw his head back and laughed. It was strange to Xuxi, how he laughed without a sound, but the image of it was enthralling. He liked to think the laughter was genuine. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ten said.

“I meant it as one,” Xuxi stated plainly, still embarrassed but rolling his shoulders to get over it. “You’re beautiful.”

Ten hummed. “Hm, I know.”

The tone Ten spoke in was not haughty, not at all like the pride in Hendery's voice when he proclaimed himself unique and treasured, but rather assured and weighted with acceptance. Ten had probably experienced a lifetime of compliments like this, Xuxi thought, and behind each compliment was the implication that the person leaving it wanted to bed him.

“I don’t mean just outwardly,” Xuxi added quietly, unsure how Ten would react. “You tried to help me when I first arrived.”

Ten shrugged. “You looked so lost. Like a—” He said a word in Saphyrian, and it reminded Xuxi of the soft rustling of fabric against skin.

Xuxi looked at him blankly, not understanding.

“You know, like a _newborn_ ,” Ten explained, using the Weishenin word instead.

“Ah,” Xuxi nodded. “A newborn.” He spoke in Atellan and felt his lips curl when he heard Ten repeat it, trying the word out on his tongue. “How do you say  _ beautiful  _ in your language?”

Ten tilted his head as a wry, bemused grin danced across his mouth. “Would you like to learn Saphyrian, Xuxi?”

“Yes,” Xuxi said readily, hungrily. His eagerness was plain in his tone, and Ten laughed at him for it, his shoulders shaking. The smile slipped from Xuxi’s face, and his brows furrowed in consternation. “I can learn it,” he insisted.

“Oh, I am sure of it,” Ten said, still in Atellan. He held Xuxi’s gaze and lowered his voice to a murmur. “They’ve underestimated you, Xuxi.”

Xuxi felt his skin warm and his hackles rise at the seditious tone underlying Ten’s words, but Ten smiled at him beatifically, and there was no room in Xuxi for doubt.

.

The Nimraen estate they occupied expanded beyond the menagerie for Xuxi in the days that followed. The burnt red of the Empire blazed across white walls and gleaming furniture like scar tissue, a mark and reminder of Weishen’s successful, ongoing conquest. 

During the mornings, he learned Saphyrian vocabulary with Ten, if Ten did not have dance lessons. Though he couldn’t practice the words until their midday meal, he committed each sound to memory and caught on quickly, able to form simple sentences within their first few days of lessons. 

Because he had killed the beast, the Weishenin were now more interested in him, and he was given afternoons to exercise in a small gym where Weishenin soldiers and citizens gawked at him freely through the windows looking in. 

And then during the evenings, he was shown off during meals in the dining hall before dozens of guards and soldiers and court officials sitting at long tables, made to stand with his wrists locked together before him at Kun’s side on the dais, as Kun held Hendery in his lap and fed him slices of fruit or fish from his fingers. It surprised Xuxi to learn that grilled meat was seldom part of the menu, and he wondered what lengths the Prince had gone through to provide Xuxi his victory meal. 

Probably nothing too lengthy. He was the First Prince, after all.

Often, the dinners dragged into the night with drink and long orations that nearly bored Xuxi to sleep. Xuxi learned to keep alert, however, as within hours of the first night he came to understand that he was meant to be an ornament, an object of intrigue, of ridicule, of even desire at times, because any moment he stepped a foot out of place or looked at someone with any emotion in his expression or for any reason at all, really, the collar around his neck tightened, or a guard came forward brandishing a baton. Standing at the dais with his buffed muscles, flexing when he was ordered to flex, and lifting whole benches when he was ordered to lift was not the worst he’d been made to do in his life by far, so he performed whatever was asked.

He endured these first couple of nights more easily because Ten was close to him, kneeling at the King’s side, and they sneaked glances at each other while smiling with only their eyes. Twice the King was too inebriated to call Ten to his chambers at the ends of these meals, and Xuxi and Ten and Hendery were able to return to the menagerie together.

But on the third night, the King’s appetite became voracious, and he took Ten to his bed. Ten did not return to the menagerie later, nor did he surface during the morning that followed. The day passed slowly without him.

At dinner, Ten was where he always was, kneeling just a few short steps from Xuxi’s place at Kun’s side, yet he was untouchable through the barrier of the King. Xuxi watched him closely, as much as he was able to, checking Ten’s body over for signs of injury or discomfort, trying to make eye contact. 

Just wanting to be acknowledged. 

But Ten seldom looked up from the floor, or from the King’s feet, and the red robes hanging from his slim frame washed over him like the sea.

That night, Xuxi sat with Yuqi and Hendery in the menagerie and waited to hear Ten’s soft footsteps pattering towards his pod, but they never came, and Xuxi became well acquainted with the emptiness he felt while missing Ten, wondering what the King was doing to him.

.

On the night before Xuxi’s second fight, the King ordered Ten to dance in a loud, booming command.

Silence fell and hung over the long tables as the guards and soldiers and court officials turned their faces to the dais. There was a respectable distance between the tables where they sat and the steps to the platform, a distance always afforded royalty, and Ten rose and walked toward this divide slowly, his robes flowing around his ankles.

The lights dimmed, and the audience remained quiet, like a breath held. Xuxi did not know what to do in the stillness of it all and fidgeted on his feet, his skin prickling in what felt like tension in the air. On Atella, the entertainment was loud, boisterous, communal. He was not sure how it was in the upper echelons of Atellan society but he couldn’t imagine it to be much different. Back on the vineyard, even the Lord had joined the boys and servants in the telling of stories, in the celebrations dedicated to their Moons. 

Upon Kun’s lap, Hendery blinked and his blue eyes shone out across the diners like a beacon, and Ten fluttered to the floor in a heap, as lovely and delicate as a single red blossom cut from its stem. 

Xuxi longed to peel back Ten’s petals, layer by layer, fingers searching for his very center, his core. He imagined him bare and gloriously naked and unbound, his blue eyes clear and lucid and viciously bright. 

Wordlessly, from the corner, one of the court musicians began to pluck a sparse, haunting tune on his upright harp, the first note sending a shiver up Xuxi’s spine. In the soft silver light of the dining hall, the harp’s gilded edges gleamed like the inside of an oyster. The music was unlike anything Xuxi had heard before, so different from the common music on Atella that was filled with drums and sounded like the rumbling of an oncoming train. It made him think instead of water dripping slowly from a single stalactite into a pool in a cave, of the hollowness inside a shell. 

Ten began to move, to sway like a young sapling caught in the wind, roots secure but limbs flowing. He rose to his feet in a graceful sweep, extending the long sleeves of his robes to their fullest so that they cascaded in a waterfall of fabric to the ground. Xuxi could see the strength behind his movements, how quickly his wrists snapped to make the sleeves flitter in a beautiful arc over his head, how he held his breath when he lifted his leg into the air slowly, until he was standing in a split. The pause before he crossed his arms and threw the scarf-like sleeves behind himself, and they extended from his back like wings as he touched both feet to the ground. 

Xuxi stood, mesmerized, aching with feeling. Beauty happened in the space between drops, which was the same for Xuxi as the space between breaths. He felt as though the musician were plucking the chords to his heart inside of his chest, and he lurched through time with each note with air caught in his lungs, anticipating the next step Ten would take, the next leap, the next turn, lunge, spin. 

“Play something livelier,” the King barked, his voice cutting through the music like a freshly sharpened knife. 

Ten wobbled on one foot, surprised, bottom lip between his teeth. He looked up and, by chance, met Xuxi’s gaze. The fear behind his eyes was thick and hard, glittering like a cut black diamond in his irises, and he turned from Xuxi so quickly that Xuxi could feel the razor-like edge of his gaze like it was pressed against his own skin, the blood underneath welling up to meet it. 

Xuxi could do nothing but watch and clench his fists tighter as the musician sped up his song and Ten began to dance faster. The King laughed at the barely-there misstep, the harsh, horrible laughter of someone who was both cruel and drunk.

Within a few measures of song, Xuxi could predict Ten’s movements. His routine was not changing, but the increase in speed sharpened the poses that were meant to be elegantly curved, hardened the transitions between jumps and leaps. The music kept up, and Ten landed more heavily each time, a torturous, unsteady drumbeat. Xuxi could see his breath coming in fast, the sheen of sweat glittering over his body.

“Faster!” the King ordered again, raising his goblet and draining the contents within. He slammed the goblet down and gestured for it to be filled, and Xuxi started forward with a low growl, only to be halted in his tracks by a tightening at his throat. 

Kun’s narrowed eyes cut across Xuxi’s path forward.  _ Heel, _ Kun mouthed. He jerked his head toward the sea of court officials and guards and soldiers with raised eyebrows.

Xuxi looked out over the heads of the audience. What was Xuxi going to do by himself? Fight off dozens of Weishenin soldiers? Pick up Ten and run? Run where?

He stepped back, bristling, his blood hot in his ears. He hated this. He hated being here more than being back on Atella. He had discovered quickly that the Weishen Empire was needlessly cruel, and lawless in its cruelty. 

At least in the Atellan mines he could predict when he was going to be punished or beaten. Here, the collar and muzzle ruled him. He was not scared of the pain as much as he was of losing time if the shocks rendered him unconscious. That he would fall into darkness and emerge in a new Hell and Ten would be gone. 

He couldn’t allow that to happen. He needed to get Ten away from the King, first.

The musician plucked sharp, jolting chords at his harp, the notes jarring and without sense. Xuxi’s nails dug into his palms, the hot pinpricks of pain keeping him in place. He couldn’t look away from Ten, who was panting now, scrambling to keep up with the music. It was riveting, like watching carnage slowly unfold, and then Ten stumbled again, foot catching on a scarf, and fell to the ground in a heap.

The musician froze, the last note he’d plucked ringing out over silence. 

The King stood abruptly, and with him the entire congregation rose except for Ten, whose hunched back was heaving. “You  _ dare  _ humiliate me,” the King hissed in a low, commanding voice that made the hairs on Xuxi’s forearms stand on end. “I told you to dance.”

He did not feel himself moving until Kun’s hand over his wrist stayed him. He almost didn’t care. He glared at Kun and was surprised to find him glaring back, his eyes steely. 

Electricity buzzed across Xuxi’s skin like a warm kiss, a small reminder of what Kun could do should Xuxi decide not to heed him. He realized he had no idea what would happen to Ten should Xuxi come to his rescue and fail, and when he had tried before to help him, that night Ten had come back to the menagerie shaking and confused, twisted up in turmoil and terror.

Ten was shaking now, muttering something quietly under his breath. 

Xuxi strained to hear and made out what sounded like a Saphyrian prayer. His heart wrenched in his chest. 

“Take him away.” The King swept his hand out across Ten and in the general direction of the archways that led out of the dining hall, and immediately two guards stepped forward, hooking Ten under his arms and hoisting him to his feet. They dragged him, limp and defeated, from the hall.

The King sat, and the people sat, too, in a wave from the front of the hall to the back. Kun remained standing, arm curved behind the small of Hendery’s back, and when the King noticed this his lips turned downwards in an acute expression of disdain. The King opened his mouth to speak, but Kun beat him to it.

“My Siren is tired,” Kun said. “We thank you for the meal and company, but we shall retire now for the evening.” He inclined his head in a bow, and the King returned the gesture in acknowledgement, though with a frown still on his face.

“Fine,” the King grunted. “You are dismissed.”

When Kun began to leave the dais with Hendery in tow, Xuxi hesitated. Was he to leave as well? Wasn’t he Kun’s? As though able to read his thoughts, Kun turned at the bottom of the dais and raised his hand. When he closed it into a fist, Xuxi felt the pull in his muzzle and stepped forward out of shock. 

“Come, Xuxi,” Kun said. 

So Xuxi followed him.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you silk and r for the support <3


	7. Chapter 7

Kun tread down the hall with purpose, his strides long. Beside him, Hendery scampered to keep up, while Xuxi easily matched his pace with his hands cuffed together in front of him, staying just behind the Prince’s shadow. As they moved through shiny white corridors and past red banners, the retinue of servants following Kun grew, until nearly a dozen walked behind Xuxi in two even lines.

“Prince, what’s the hurry?” Hendery asked, and Xuxi could hear his voice shaking with the effort not to appear out of breath. 

With each step, Xuxi could feel his blood heating in his veins as he thought about Ten and the prayers that had passed his lips. The terror radiating from the Saphyrian had been palpable, almost sweet, in the air, and Xuxi wanted desperately to seek that scent out, to follow it, to shield Ten from the King’s drunken rage.

But instead, here he was, following the Prince around like some pup on a leash, because he did not know what would happen to him—or Ten—if he didn’t.

Kun paused in his steps abruptly. Miraculously, Xuxi froze before he could crash into him, and the servants behind him stilled in eerie unison. 

They were at an intersection in the corridors. To the left was the menagerie, and to the right… Xuxi didn’t think he’d ever gone to the right. He wondered which direction the King’s chambers laid, where Ten had been taken. 

Kun nodded toward the menagerie. “We will part here, Hendery. Please escort Hendery back to the menagerie. We will share a meal in the morning when I wake. Don’t sleep too late.”

Xuxi’s eyes widened, and he began to turn to go, thinking that Kun had meant for him to walk Hendery back, but Kun sucked in a breath and said, “No, Xuxi. Stay.”

Xuxi stilled. 

The look that crossed Hendery’s face was one of utter confusion and disappointment. His flapping mouth reminded Xuxi of a fish struggling to breathe on land. “But, Prince—” Hendery pleaded sweetly, his voice going soft and high.

“Good night, Hendery,” Kun said, clipped. It was clear the conversation, if Xuxi could even call it that, was over. Kun began to walk down the corridor to the right, and the servants folded around Hendery like he was a boulder in the middle of a current. 

Most of the servants paid him no mind. One stayed behind and waited to be acknowledged, their hand gentle against Hendery’s elbow. “Siren, this way—”

“Don’t touch me,” Hendery snapped, yanking his arm away from the servant and glaring. When he narrowed his eyes at Xuxi, it felt like a harpoon to Xuxi’s chest. “I’ll go. Xuxi, you should follow the Prince. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Good night.” 

Hendery spun on his heel and stalked down the hall without another word.

.

The First Prince of Weishen’s chambers were much smaller than what Xuxi had imagined them to be. 

At least, this was what Xuxi had been thinking before Kun walked through the room they’d entered without a glance to the sitting area on their right—Xuxi barely had time to register there wasn’t a bed in this room—and servants were pushing open a set of heavy doors that led into another, much larger room.

The bed stood atop the short dais like a monument, silky sheets the color of blood. The blue-black pelts of dead nightcrawlers covered the floor before it, and behind it, a long banner with the crest of the Weishen Empire emblazoned in its center covered the wall. A wide window to one side of the room gave a clear view of the inky sky and the ocean beyond the edge of the cliffs, and beside this window was another lounging area, sectioned off by a low chaise, couch, and table. 

The room was cavernous and cold. Xuxi shivered, the hairs on his arms and legs and back of his neck rising in the empty chill. The temperature was at odds with the angry, impatient heat rising and bubbling underneath his skin with every moment that passed that Kun did not explain why he had ordered him to come. He was worried about Ten. He wanted to know what Kun was thinking about, if his mind could move on from the image of Ten being dragged away from the dining hall like a puppet cut from its strings. Xuxi’s mind could not. 

Kun continued on through his bedchamber, in the direction of another doorway beside the bed, but when Xuxi moved to follow, a servant peeled away from the retinue and held a hand out to halt him.

“You must be given the pleasure of being invited by the First Prince,” the servant said. He only came up to Xuxi’s chin, and his hand trembled slightly as it rose.

Xuxi grunted and stilled, mouth working behind his muzzle. Why had Kun told him to stay? What did the Prince want with him? He felt himself coming to a boil at this treatment when all he wanted to do was find the King’s bedchamber, break down the doors, and carry Ten away to safety. 

At the doorway, Kun turned to look at him behind his shoulder and a tingle of electricity raced down Xuxi’s spine. “Come,” Kun ordered. “It’s alright. I must keep an eye on him.”

The servant sighed in relief and stepped to the side, letting Xuxi pass. 

It was a strange ritual for Xuxi to witness. The doorway Kun stood in led to what looked like a series of even _more_ doorways, each vestibule between sectioned off by a curtain. And in each vestibule, a servant peeled a layer of clothing from Kun’s body. To Xuxi, it was slow and tedious, but the way the servants carefully anointed each newly revealed section of skin with fragrant oils made the path feel sacred, and the sconces on the walls that emitted low, silver-blue light created shadows that hugged Kun's form intimately.

Xuxi reasoned by the growing humidity in the air and by the continued removal of Kun’s clothing as they moved through the vestibules that at the end of this path were the Prince’s baths. So did Kun want Xuxi to join him as he bathed? Did he want something more? Were they going to talk about Ten at all? Surely, the Prince would not want a slave who could no longer pleasure him, and so they both had some interest in keeping Ten safe—or at least alive, Xuxi reasoned.

When Kun was standing in only his undergarments, a servant slipped a sheer robe around his shoulders, and another servant elegantly pushed aside the curtain at the end of the vestibule, and beyond this Xuxi saw an enormous white pool.

“My Prince,” came a familiar, husky voice. Xuxi’s eyes caught Dejun’s bright, surprised stare. The bathing attendant quickly schooled his expression into one of pleasant obeisance when Kun strode forward onto the white marble floor. “Shall I—?”

Xuxi’s head was beginning to spin with all the sweet floral scents filling it, so he tried to breathe shallowly but still felt himself growing dizzy. 

“I require privacy tonight,” Kun said, his words echoing in the steam-filled room. Xuxi’s senses came back into acute focus at the statement. What could Kun want with him, completely alone? He felt his muscles tighten as adrenaline rushed through his blood with no way for him to act on the burst of heightened energy. 

Xuxi scanned the room again. The only way out was the doorway through which they came, and the only out from there was through the Prince’s bedroom, then the antechamber. No doubt guards were stationed throughout. The dozen servants waiting in the vestibules might converge on Xuxi if they saw him trying to make a run for it, and he didn’t want to hurt them. Besides, there was the small factor that the collar around Xuxi’s neck seemed to bend to Kun’s will. 

Xuxi would not be able to get away if Kun decided to hurt him.

“Of course,” Dejun muttered. He bowed low and deep, so low that his long sleeves touched the ground. “I will not be far.”

“Stay out of earshot. I will send Xuxi to you when we are done,” Kun added, pulling his robe tighter around his body.

Xuxi exhaled slightly, feeling a small sense of relief at the implication that whatever Kun had in store for him, he could still be _sent_ somewhere after, and Kun’s eyes darted to him, narrowed. Xuxi's throat went dry as he tried to swallow around it.

Dejun turned to go, and Xuxi thought that his feeling of relief might have been premature—there was plenty Kun to do to him here, in private, with no one to hear them. He could be lying to Dejun. The humidity was coalescing on Xuxi’s skin; beads of sweat and water rolled down his chest and sides, pooling at the loose waistband of his thin trousers.

In the damp heat of the chambers, Kun's robes were already saturated and becoming translucent, clinging to the few curves along his waist. Kun beckoned to Dejun, who was already halfway out the door of the baths and frowning subtly, and said something else, something Xuxi did not catch, because suddenly all he could focus on was the outline of Kun’s thick, swelling cock under his robe.

 _So that was what the Prince wanted,_ Xuxi thought bitterly to himself.

He had not thought about Kun’s sex before this. To him, the Prince was the avatar of power, a representation of the future of the Empire, and Empires were not people. Empires were ideologies actualized through destruction, war, and colonization. 

Kun’s body looked smaller without all the layers and robes, the chest piece, the armored shoulders, but there was strength and certainty in his posture. The fine muscles lining his arms rippled as he moved. Xuxi found himself imagining how Ten’s body would fit against Kun’s, belly to belly, chest to chest, mouth to mouth. 

Kun was saying something to Xuxi, his sentences indecipherable through the humming in Xuxi’s ears. Xuxi struggled to raise his gaze to Kun’s mouth where he could see the Weishenin words forming. _This is the only place we will not be heard._

Xuxi blinked, head spinning, and willed the fog in his mind to dissipate. He was confused. They were alone.

“Sit,” Kun said. His softly delivered command was accompanied by the elegant lift of one eyebrow.

Xuxi looked around the echoing chamber. The deep pool in the very middle seemed to be the only place to sit, unless Kun expected Xuxi to perch on the counter to one side that was teeming with rows and rows of jars filled with oils and salves. He lifted his hands, which were still bound together at his wrists, the metal cuffs warming in the muggy heat of the baths. 

Kun tilted his head to the side and chuckled. “I think not,” he said, grinning as though amused by Xuxi’s audacity. Kun gestured to the pool, walking toward it himself. “Now, sit. I don’t like to repeat myself.” 

Still, Xuxi hesitated before he walked to the pool and sat at its edge, folding his long legs carefully underneath himself, mindful not to tear the nearly-sheer red fabric of his trousers. He was not eager to get into the water after his experience with being forcibly bathed before the fight. 

Meanwhile, Kun stepped into the pool gradually, his thin robe skimming the surface of the water and floating like a lily pad. When the water came up to Kun’s chest, Kun slipped his arms from the robe and left the article of clothing to drift as he ducked his head under, submerging himself and wading to the opposite side of the large, deep basin. 

There seemed to be a seat or bench at the pool’s edge. Kun sat on it, the water now rising up to his shoulders. His black hair glistened and was so dark and wet that it looked almost blue. Xuxi’s gaze followed the mark of the First Born Line, the way it sliced down his chin and the column of his neck, stopping just at the divot between his collarbones. Xuxi could just make out the murky outlines of other markings over Kun’s pale skin, some black, some red, below the surface of the water.

Power emanated from Kun's form. Kun sat far from Xuxi but his narrow-eyed stare was critical and piercing. It did not matter if he were on a throne, or lounging by a window, or here sitting in a pool—he carried himself in a way that was clear he was used to getting whatever he wanted. Xuxi could not even fathom that and ducked his eyes after a moment, submitting.

Kun said, “Your behavior at dinner must not continue.”

Xuxi stiffened, a growl trapped behind his teeth, as instantly he thought of the sharp look of fear Ten had shot him when their eyes coincidentally met across the hall. He turned his face to the side in defiance.

Kun scoffed. “Think of what it means for Ten.” Xuxi’s breath hitched at the name falling from Kun’s lips, his shoulders tightening, and Kun continued in a steady, even tone, “When you broadcast your anger and distress at how the King chooses to treat Ten, the King only enjoys himself more.”

Xuxi’s eyes flashed. His nostrils flared. Kun was making it sound like it was Xuxi’s fault what had happened to Ten, but why should the King care what a lowly slave like Xuxi felt, or saw, or endured? They were all disposable to him, from a lowly fighter to a beautiful Saphyrian pleasure slave to a prized possession like Hendery, weren’t they? 

That was what Ten had said the other day: _Being the King’s favorite doesn’t mean I’m indispensable._ He knew he danced with death daily.

Xuxi hated the King with an intensity he had never felt before. He saw now that the King was responsible for all of it—even the mines on Atella that fueled the armies that fueled the war. The chains of the Weishen Empire had weighed him down since before he could walk, before he could speak.

“Anger makes you vulnerable to distraction,” Kun said. “We can’t have that.”

There was hardly any emotion at all in Kun’s voice. To Xuxi, he seemed made of stone, and Xuxi imagined pulling him into the water completely, imagined him sinking to the bottom like a boulder. Would the King mourn if Kun died? Were there any other offspring or relatives in line for the throne? Xuxi realized that he didn't know. He rarely thought of Kun as someone with a family, someone who could potentially have siblings as growing up on Atella, the Weishen Empire was the King and the King was the Weishen Empire. 

Then he remembered that Kun could not drown, and he scowled. His skin was burning again.

“No matter what the King does, do not let yourself be distracted tomorrow in the dome. Remember our deal. You must dedicate yourself to full focus,” Kun said.

Of course Xuxi remembered their deal, and he would focus. He would save Ten from the King’s clutches. His fingers felt like claws digging into the tops of his thighs as he grunted his acknowledgement and hoped that this admonishment, this warning, would be the end of their interaction this evening. 

But Kun continued, his eyes flashing like mirrors in the dark. “If I have reason to think you won’t be successful, I will call it off, and then where will that leave Ten? There are other uses for you, you know?” At this, Kun’s gaze lowered to Xuxi’s groin, where the fabric was straining, stretched over his bulk. Kun smirked, and Xuxi’s skin blazed with anger and embarrassment and indignation. 

Xuxi knew he was dangling Ten in front of him like bait, but he was biting because there was nothing else Xuxi could do. Kun held all the power. 

“Now, come into the water and show me how dedicated you are.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated making this fic Explicit but ended up keeping with the Mature rating for Xuxi's part. But Ten...Ten's will be explicit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please heed the tags/warnings in this one!

Xuxi awoke in the Prince's antechamber draped over the chaise lounge by the window, a pillow under his head and a soft, knitted blanket thrown over his body. He was sore, the way he'd feel after a day of mindless, repetitive work in the mines, but it was not unpleasant. He thought suddenly of the berries in the vineyard overlooking the sea from his childhood, the taste of the sun on his tongue. It was morning, the sky beyond the glass a clear, pale blue.

On the small table beside the chaise was a pitcher of water, a crystalline cup, and a tray of sliced, soft breads and meats. His stomach grumbled, and without thinking, he rose and reached for a piece of bread, bringing it to his lips. He chewed. He swallowed. The bread was rich in flavor, slightly sour, and warmed his belly. 

Halfway through his third bite, he realized he was not muzzled.

His hands flew up to his collar as the hunk of bread fell from his fingers. The metal was still wrapped around his neck, but the muzzle was lowered. He looked around the antechamber and held his breath, suspicious, cautious, wary, but it was empty save for a servant who was standing in the corner, who flinched when Xuxi's gaze fell upon her.

Xuxi cleared his throat and tried to soften the expression on his face. He didn't want to alarm her as he stood, the blanket tumbling to his ankles in a heap.

"Oh!" she squeaked softly, turning her pink face away from him.

Quickly, Xuxi gathered up the blanket and wrapped it around his waist, more embarrassed that the servant was embarrassed at his sudden exposure. Surely it wasn't anything new to her, was it? But maybe it was. And now Xuxi was embarrassed for making such an assumption. Perhaps there were pockets to the Weishen Empire that were not entirely about power, violence, and sex.

He thought of the Prince. Of Kun. Of the strangeness of last night.

Kun hadn't touched him. They had stayed apart, on opposite sides of the pool in the baths, with Kun's voice and his commands echoing between them and the ever-present threat of punishment or pain or death hanging over Xuxi's head. 

"I have always wondered if it was true what they said about your kind," he'd said, not elaborating and leaving Xuxi to mull over what he'd meant. "Touch yourself. I want to see." 

Something much deeper than anger had rippled through Xuxi’s body at the order while Kun had relaxed further into the water, tipping his head back against the marble edge of the pool with a sigh, eyes like steel. In warning, the collar around Xuxi’s throat had tightened until he was sputtering and rasping for breath, until spots had begun to dance in his vision. 

So Xuxi, with burning ears and gritted teeth, had taken himself in hand under the water. He had imagined, at first, a small, lithe anonymous figure to help him with his pleasure. The collar had loosened gradually with his demonstration of obedience, but he hadn't been able to summon his arousal, and Kun had noticed.

“Faster,” he’d demanded. "I don't have all night.” A sharp catch of breath like the flip of a coin in the air. “Think of Ten.”

Though he had resisted the image at first, it had knocked incessantly at the door of his mind, and Xuxi had unwittingly thought of Ten. He’d pictured the heel of Ten's smooth hand pressed against his belly, his mouth over his skin, his lips stretched wide around his girth, his thickness. A creeping, hot shame had crawled up from the pit of his belly into his throat as the image of Ten solidified, took root, filled him. He'd wanted to escape from under Kun's sharp, greedy gaze, to escape the shame, and in his desperation for this whole experience to be over quickly, his mind had supplied an image of himself fucking Ten ruthlessly, hand pressed to Ten’s neck, like it had always been there lying in wait. 

Xuxi had almost instantly tipped over the edge, and his release had floated to the surface of the water like flotsam from a wreckage.

Kun had dismissed him then, and Xuxi, head spinning and ears ringing, had stumbled from the baths with a body that had not felt like his own.

He had expected violence—not whatever that had been—yet his heart had still pounded in his chest for what felt like hours after, the blood in his veins boiling. 

It had been a different kind of violence, Xuxi thought now. One he didn't have a name for yet, so soon after waking.

And now he was here in the antechamber, naked and hungry and unmuzzled, the hours between leaving the baths and coming to consciousness on the chaise fuzzy and fleeting in his memories.

He sat again, disquieted. The smell wafting from the meats made his tongue salivate, but guilt had already turned his appetite rancid. 

He had violated Ten last night in his mind. He had imagined him before, lovely and beautiful and whole, coming to him, wanting him, thanking him for protecting him; yet one word from Kun had corrupted the vision into a scene of debauchery. 

He had convinced himself that he’d be better for Ten than the Weishenin, that he was noble, that his intentions were pure, but now the distance between himself and Kun had shortened considerably. He realized he wanted Ten the same way Kun wanted Ten: under him, calling his name, crying in pleasure.

A shiver wracked through his bones. He ate another slice of bread, numb as the world was moments before a storm, steeped in bitter hatred. 

By the window, the servant gasped suddenly, straightening. Xuxi noticed she had the same ruby eyes as Yuqi. “The Prince approaches,” she announced.

No sooner did she finish her sentence did the doors to the antechamber swing open, not from Kun’s inner bedroom, but from the hall, and Kun entered in all of his finery and embellishments, flanked by two guards, trailed by two servants. His presence made Xuxi’s hackles rise, and when Kun curled his lips into a cold smile in greeting, Xuxi felt the same as though Kun were prodding at a festering blister.

Xuxi didn’t return the smile as Kun sat in the seat across from him and helped himself to a slice of bread. The guards hung back, steps away but leaving Kun unprotected. Xuxi imagined what it would feel like to smash the crystal cup into pieces and to plunge a long, icy shard straight into the Prince’s eye. His fingers twitched over his thigh. Could he move fast enough?

“Xue’er, come here,” Kun said, beckoning. 

The servant by the window padded toward them quietly, eyes lowered. She stood by the Prince’s side and moved closer when Kun touched her hip, positioning her such that Xuxi would not be able to strike at Kun without needing to go through her first. Her eyes flicked toward Xuxi nervously, and Xuxi dug his nails into the meat of his leg, growling at the back of his throat.

“Even without an Empath, I can tell you are angry,” Kun said quietly, hand curled around Xue’er’s waist. “But is it me you are angry at?”

Xuxi’s jaw clenched so hard that his temples throbbed with pain. Anger, hatred, and humiliation swirled like a vortex inside of him. Kun had stolen much from him last night—his pride and his goodness over anything else. His whole sense of himself had shifted along one axis, and now Xuxi’s footing, his way forward, was uncertain. He felt debased. 

“No muzzle, and yet you don’t speak,” Kun continued with an amused lilt in his voice.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Xuxi bit out.

“Ah,” Kun intoned, seemingly ignoring Xuxi and leaning back in his seat, again pulling Xue’er with him. “That’s right. I visited the King this morning.”

Xuxi’s nostrils flared, and the smell of iron filled the air, like blood. His nails had broken skin. He bit down hard into his bottom lip, releasing his breath slowly like pressure from a valve. 

Kun continued, with eyes as sharp as a blade and tone measured, balanced: “His mood was high. He must have had a good night, though I imagine it was nothing like ours.”

And Xuxi erupted. 

He lunged for Kun, fingers shaped as claws, teeth bared. He saw the fluttering pulse at Kun’s throat and snapped his jaws over the jugular, missing by millimeters when he suddenly could not breathe. Distantly, he registered a scream. He felt the impact of the guards’ batons against his back but did not feel pain. It was the closing of his throat that brought him to his knees, finally, as he ripped at the collar with his hands but found it immovable.

The ringing in his ears was replaced by a low chuckle. The Prince, shoved to the floor with legs akimbo, lifted himself onto his elbows as the servant scampered away from them on her hands and knees. 

“Stand down,” Kun ordered his guards, catching his breath. His eyes were alight with energy, a kind of manicness to them Xuxi had not seen before. The collar began to loosen, and Xuxi looked around himself. The table was upturned, the breads and meats strewn across the white floor, the jug of water spilled. The crystalline cup that Xuxi had hoped would shatter had remained stubbornly intact. 

“I wanted to make sure you had it in you, as you'll be facing two beasts today,” Kun told him while he rose on steady feet and dusted himself off. “And now I am sure you will be brilliant.”

As Kun left, the muzzle formed a cage around Xuxi’s jaw, and the shadow at Kun's heels stretched out behind him in a long, inky trail. Xuxi stayed on his knees, head lowered, burning inside.

.

The beach at midday seemed smaller than it had been the night of the first fight, but maybe that was because Xuxi could see everything now with clarity: the murky blue water; the pale, pebbly sand; the gray cliff face that had been so daunting in darkness. The white walls of the Nimraen estate were visible over the top of the cliff, and Xuxi could follow the path they had taken from it with a glance, the way down not so dangerous when illuminated.

The guard behind him shoved him between his shoulders to keep him moving. Xuxi feinted at him with flashing eyes, sneering behind his muzzle when the guard flinched.

Sicheng, beside him, scoffed. “Save it for the fight.”

Xuxi’s muscles tensed. He had been shaken by Kun’s visit and spent the morning mired in doubt and grappling with consuming fits of anger. His mind circled the image of a ruined Ten with tepid fascination and careful distance. He wanted Ten’s forgiveness for thinking of him in such a way. He wanted to strike the smile from Kun’s face for putting the image there. 

And all the while, anxiety mounted as he weighed his chances of surviving the next fight in his mind. He did not know how to prepare himself to take on two nightcrawlers at the same time. One old, sickly beast had been challenging enough. He wished he could be thrown into the ring with the King so that he could tear his spine out. 

Despite the early hour, the stadium was full of Weishenin. This time, as Xuxi stood by the glass dome, he noticed some people who were not dressed like soldiers but instead draped in the fine, jewel-toned attire worn by members of the court. He searched for Kun and the King in the stands over the heads of the guards that surrounded him while Sicheng unlocked the restraints around his wrists and the dome split open to them.

Xuxi saw the Prince first, sitting in his brilliant ruby robes with Hendery, looking delicate in pale pink, balanced on his lap. The King was a hulkish figure beside them. 

The moment Xuxi saw Ten kneeling at the King’s feet, the rest of the world faded into the background, into white noise. Ten’s horns were glowing softly, a bright, pale yellow that reminded Xuxi of the sweet nectar at the center of a flower. He was bound in every way that he could be bound. A red sash covered his eyes, and a gag dug into the corners of his mouth, into his cheeks. His wrists had been tied with a red rope and attached to the collar around his neck, restricting his movement. His robes were sheer black and underneath them, Xuxi could see the way the rope continued on, creating a lattice over his chest and belly and disappearing between his legs. 

And Xuxi could see that Ten was trembling, rattling with barely-contained fear and panic.

White-hot rage seared through him. While Xuxi had spent the morning in self-flagellation, the King had tortured Ten. 

Suddenly, he was pushed into the dome as something unlocked inside of his chest. He did not hear the announcement, only felt the change in the air as the dome opened to allow more fighters inside.

He heard the beasts snarling behind him as he spun on his heels and the dust around him settled. 

The two nightcrawlers came up to Xuxi’s shoulders on all fours, their canines glinting in their jaws the length of Xuxi’s longest fingers. Healthy, sleek black fur covered them. Their eyes glowed a blinding blue when they locked onto his form.

Strangely, Xuxi was not afraid. A transcendent peace had possessed his body. Survival did not even cross his mind. He listened to the beasts’ hearts beating in their chests, syncopated and thudding and loud. He felt the sand between his toes. The air inside the dome was dead and heating up quickly, and he could taste the tang of blood in it. The promise of it.

They lunged.

Xuxi’s body and fury overtook him. There was no room in his mind for thought. He reacted, led by rage. 

He caught the first beast’s jaws with his hands when they had yet to snap over his shoulder, holding it open, and then he tore the lower mandible from its hinge and shoved the beast away, its jaw flapping against its chest as it gurgled and howled. He dodged the second beast and was ready for it when it swiveled its bulk around and rammed its head into Xuxi’s chest, knocking him back against the glass.

As it reared back to charge again, Xuxi dropped to the ground and rolled, and the beast crashed into the glass instead. Xuxi took advantage of its confusion by grabbing it by the neck and crushing it against the glass until he could feel its bones grinding under his hand. It flailed its limbs uselessly. 

Moments later, its neck snapped and it slid to the ground in a tangled black heap when Xuxi released it. Xuxi wrenched one of its canines from its mouth and stalked over to the other nightcrawler that was still struggling with its loose, flapping jaw. With a low grunt, he stabbed it in the eye and black blood spurted from the wound, painting Xuxi’s chest. 

It fell to the ground, dead.

Xuxi dragged the tooth from its eye and whirled around to face the King.

In the distorted reflection of the glass, he could see anger in the tight seam of the King’s lips, in his narrowed eyes. Xuxi raised the tooth like it was a dagger and stepped forward, and the air shifted inside the dome again.

The guards were back to dispose of the bodies. 

The King stood. He was leaving, drawing Ten up by his bonds with him. Ten, who could not hold himself up, whose legs buckled with every rough jerk of the rope. Xuxi felt a raw cry rip from his throat. He saw an opening in the glass and lunged toward it, weapon in hand, but he was too far from the edge of the dome and felt Kun’s heavy gaze on him from above. 

When the collar around Xuxi’s neck tightened and burned with the intensity of lightning, it brought Xuxi to his knees and shook him through his core. It felt like a thousand boulders smothering him into the dirt. His muscles spasmed and did not immediately work again.

He succumbed to the encroaching darkness like falling into a pit.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who left encouraging comments <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter include: abuse, trauma, emotional manipulation

Xuxi came awake thrashing, his heart ricocheting off the walls of his chest as though it were trying to claw out of his rib cage. Hands held him down with more ease than he was accustomed to. He growled against the restraints but the sound came out as a muffled whine under the tightness of the muzzle, and his muscles ached and were heavy as lead.

He became aware of his surroundings in flashes and pieces.

He was in a bed, in a room, in the half-dark. The sconces on the walls emitted low, amber light. The sheets were silk or some other impossibly soft, smooth material. There was someone with him. They smelled sweet and faintly floral. When they pressed their small, delicate palm to Xuxi’s mouth, to cover his nose, he breathed in honey and found comfort in the familiarity of the scent, in the way it tugged at his memories, his heart.

“Calm down,” Yuqi said quietly but sternly, pressing her hand harder over his muzzle. “It’s just me.”

Xuxi’s muscles tightened in reflex, but then sagged against her with his next exhalation. His eyelids fluttered as he realized they were pressed closely together under a thick blanket, his back against her front.

“Shh,” she soothed. Her hand traveled lower, over the column of his neck where his pulse was still thrumming. Her finger circled that spot, massaging it, and Xuxi felt when the rapid pace of his heart began to slow.

He hummed in question, his eyelids falling as the heaviness in his muscles became lethargy. He was exhausted, and Yuqi seemed to be drawing this feeling out of him with her light touches.

“I’m just giving you a little help,” Yuqi said. “You weren’t unconscious for long. It would be good for you to sleep more. Heal more.”

Xuxi did not want to sleep more. The last moments of the fight were still playing in his mind; despite his exhaustion, his blood was still singing with the high coming off of two kills, with the thirst for another. A third. He thought of the King dragging Ten away from the dome like a broken toy and anguish thudded sluggishly inside of him.

“None of that right now,” Yuqi said. Her power was subtle but sure and nudged at the base of Xuxi’s mind. He felt the spiderwebs of her influence crawling through him, and his anger was like a fire being smothered down into ashes. She replaced his bloodthirst with the overwhelming need to close his eyes and rest.

He did not fight against it.

.

Xuxi watched the light of the rising sun creep over the horizon and reach its golden fingers across the floor of the room through the wide windows. He felt Yuqi’s small form curled against his back, her steady breaths breaking across his skin. 

He was waiting for Kun to come, for he knew that he would.

Xuxi could imagine the scene now: Kun waltzing in with that flat, bored expression on his face and dismissing his entourage of servants and guards. Dismissing Yuqi. He would warn Xuxi that his behavior was, again, unacceptable. Was Xuxi crazy, trying to reach the King like that? Did he think Kun wouldn't notice? The Prince would dangle Ten’s safety in his face again. 

But what was Kun doing to protect Ten? Wasn’t he the _Prince_? Wasn’t there anything he could do other than wait uselessly?

Xuxi had nothing, but he was fighting. Kun had power, but he was not using it for any sort of good. He was lording it over Xuxi instead of saving Ten from the King. Xuxi’s hands tightened into fists under the covers.

Not for the first time, Xuxi wondered what would become of himself and Ten after he won the fights. Kun had revealed nothing, and Xuxi did not think himself imaginative enough to brainstorm all the scenarios, all the possible futures ahead of him. 

He was stuck. He would remain stuck. But if he could unstick Ten from the King while he was here, at least he would have done something good.

“Your righteous anger is commendable, but it’s making my head hurt,” Yuqi complained through sleep-thick, slurred words. She rolled over onto her other side and stretched, sighing, joints popping.

Xuxi grunted.

“You’ve worn me out.”

She gasped when the door opened abruptly, but Xuxi had been watching it and expecting it, and only grunted again in displeasure when she scrambled off the bed to stand, and then bow, before the Prince. “Xuxi,” Yuqi hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

Kun looked pale. He always looked pale, but today especially so, the pallor of his skin greyish, like he had not seen the sun for weeks. It made the red Firstborn line down his chin vivid, almost garish in its color. Several servants fanned out from behind him with platters of food and jugs of drink and began to set these out on the long table under the window. When the last of the food had been placed, he sat in the chair beside the bed.

“Out,” Kun commanded without sparing Yuqi a glance, just as Xuxi predicted.

Xuxi pushed himself to a seat slowly and leisurely, his own private rebellion, while the servants and guards fled the scene. Yuqi stopped at the threshold, glancing back at Xuxi from the threshold with worry in her eyes, but Xuxi shook his head, and she left as well. He looked at Kun in the ensuing, hollow silence; he would not lower his gaze this time.

“What a show you gave us yesterday,” Kun started, letting his displeasure weigh his words down like they were stones being dropped into water. “Tell me, did you think at all before you nearly threw your life away?”

Xuxi’s lips curled into a sneer. Kun made a jerking motion with his hand, and the metal bars of the muzzle whipped from his face, crunching and clanging as they quickly retracting into the collar around his neck. “He was there, with Ten, I had to—”

“So you did not think,” Kun interrupted, sucking in a breath between his teeth. It sounded like a whip before it cracked. “Of course. How could I expect you to think.”

“How can you do nothing—?” A spark of electricity jumping from the collar made Xuxi’s jaw clamp shut, and he narrowly avoided biting through his own tongue. 

Kun stood abruptly, turning his back to Xuxi. “You forget your place,” he said, as Xuxi wrapped stiff fingers around his collar and pulled, trying to create space between it and his skin, to no avail. The current of electricity only lasted for a second, but it felt like prolonged torture. When the shocks ceased, Xuxi was covered in cold sweat, his vision spotting. It was a struggle to uncurl his fingers. 

Kun said, “You don’t know that I’m doing nothing.”

Then before Xuxi could even begin to question such a statement, Kun continued: “The King is traveling. There is to be a summit with Nimraen leadership in which they will cede to us. The Saphyrian is not traveling with him.”

Xuxi’s eyes widened, and his already ragged breath caught in his throat. “What?”

“Ten is in the menagerie.” Kun walked over to the table laid out with food, took up an empty plate, and began to fill it with pieces from the spread. “He is still the King’s for now, of course, but I may—I will be having a private dinner tonight with some guests, and I would like to have him perform for us.” 

He returned with the platter, now filled to brimming with food, and set it down on the small table beside the bed. It was clearly for Xuxi. Kun sat back down, his thighs splayed, his hands resting over them, seemingly comfortable. Or displaying comfort. 

“You will speak with him before tonight. I need him to be, ah, back to his beguiling self. There is nothing for him to fear.”

Xuxi narrowed his eyes. “I won’t lie to him.”

"He _will_ perform tonight. And you will help him see that he must," Kun snapped, sitting forward with his eyes flashing. He ground his teeth together before leaning back again and continuing in a steadier, even tone, "Besides, it is not a lie. It is only dinner, and a dance. He will eat well, drink well. I will have you join, too.”

“Why?”

“Because it is what I want.” Kun’s mouth tightened into a thin smile. He said no more, and Xuxi’s mind tripped over the thoughts rapidly filling it.

A question tumbled out. “Why now, while the King is away?”

Kun said, “There is little room for joy while my father is around, wouldn’t you agree? We must make the most of these three short days."

 _Joy._ Such a strange word coming from Kun’s lips, slick like oil in a vat of water. It didn’t incorporate, and Xuxi didn’t know what to make of it.

. 

Sicheng came to escort him back to the menagerie around mid-day, and by then the food left out under the window was starting to smell. It bothered Xuxi that he needed to keep pace with the guards and Sicheng as they walked the corridors when all he wanted to do was break into a fast sprint back to the den. Every step felt deliberately slow. All Sicheng said to him the entire time was, “It was particularly gruesome watching you snap that nightcrawler’s jaw from its face,” with something like begrudging admiration. 

When they reached the double doors to the menagerie, Xuxi could feel his heart pounding in his ears and throat. 

It was unnaturally quiet inside. 

The doors opened, and he was shoved through without preamble or warning, and when he righted himself again Sicheng was already working on removing the restraints around his wrists. They were barely off before Xuxi was striding toward what had become his pod, and if Sicheng considered his sudden departure an act of insubordination, Xuxi did not know it, because all he could see was the silhouette of Ten’s form behind the swaths of fabric that provided a barrier between the pod and the outside world.

He pushed the barrier aside.

And immediately regretted it, as Ten sprung out of his position curled up small in the furs and flattened himself against the domed wall furthest from Xuxi, the whites around his eyes showing, his horns flashing a bright golden color that hurt to look at directly. 

Xuxi threw up his hands to shield himself from the glare, swallowing hard and freezing, trying not to make any sudden movements so as not to agitate Ten further, even though every muscle in his body wanted to react in some way to Ten's fear—to run toward him, to run away, to howl. But Xuxi could not howl or speak because of the muzzle, so he waited, still and steady and breathing deeply, hoping that Ten would soon see that it was just him and be mollified.

Ten’s gaze darted around the room and his chest rose and fall with quick, panicked breaths. He looked worn, like a strong gust of wind could rattle him apart. His red robes hung loosely off his frame, barely covering him, and the bruises around his neck were as stark and vivid as a necklace of dark thorns. He—or the King’s servants—hadn’t bothered to take the time to cover or hide them. 

Xuxi’s anger at the reminder of the violence Ten had endured battled with his sadness for Ten. His heart lurched in his chest.

“Xuxi.”

Xuxi turned to see Yuqi beside him. He was surprised that he hadn’t felt her presence as she neared.

“Let me,” she said, and she eased her way into the pod. She approached Ten slowly, and an entire lifetime passed with Xuxi standing as still as a statue, watching and assessing between the slats of his fingers, unable to do anything, unable to help. Powerless. 

Ten lifted his hands to cover his horns, the strength of their brightness shining through his palms. He watched Yuqi with naked suspicion and apprehension in his eyes. “Has it been three days already?” he rasped in stilted Weishenin, his voice breaking like water over rocky shoals. 

“It hasn’t been even a day,” Yuqi assured him quietly, hands outstretched. “I can help you.”

“You can’t,” Ten said, but when Yuqi cupped his face in her hands and leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, he gave into her with an exhausted sigh, shoulders caving in over his chest. His hands dropped to his sides as his eyelids drooped heavily, the confusion and fear in his eyes replaced by a dull fogginess. His horns dimmed and fizzled out. He shuddered and whimpered in Yuqi’s hold, then suddenly slumped against her completely, limp and lifeless. His weight nearly toppled Yuqi over as she tried to ease him back onto the furs.

Xuxi reacted. He slid into the pod with liquid movement onto his knees and caught Ten’s head in a cradle before he could hit the ground, and Yuqi glanced at him, grateful and burdened. 

“I might have pushed too hard,” Yuqi admitted, carding her fingers through Ten’s soft silver hair and helping Xuxi arrange Ten comfortably on his side, knees slightly tucked. Xuxi plucked one of the blue pillows from against the domed wall and placed it under Ten’s cheek. He folded his hand over Yuqi’s wrist gently and hummed, hoping she would understand his appreciation for her behind his gesture. She smiled humorlessly at him, the light not reaching her eyes.

Ten was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, eyes half-open. Xuxi felt fingertips dancing lightly over his knees and took Ten’s hand into both of his. 

“I’m tired,” Ten whispered in Saphyrian. He held onto Xuxi’s hand tight, as tight as it seemed he could manage right now, and Xuxi nodded because he understood. 

Lowering himself to the furs beside Ten, Xuxi pushed thoughts of Kun’s plans for dinner to the back of his mind. He could not fathom asking Ten to perform like this, though that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Kun wasn’t asking. Nevertheless, they had many hours before nightfall, and Ten needed to rest. 

He decided that whatever Kun wanted from them, if Ten could not do it, Xuxi would find a way. And if he couldn’t find a way, he’d protect Ten as best he could from the consequences.

“He should be alright for a little while, Xuxi,” Yuqi said as she stood. “I have duties before the mid-day meal but...but should you need assistance, call on my sisters or brothers. Xue’er may be around. Or Minghao.”

Xuxi made a noise of acknowledgement, but already her voice sounded far away as he lay in the furs with Ten. Bracketed within his arms, Ten was staring at him.

A long, quiet moment passed. Then, Ten raised his hand and began tracing the metal wires of Xuxi’s muzzle with his finger. “Does it hurt?” Ten asked.

The truth was that nowadays Xuxi forgot he was wearing it until Sicheng or Kun was lowering it, and this realization that accompanied Ten’s question pierced Xuxi like an arrow to his gut. He nodded.

“Baby,” Ten murmured in Saphyrian. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” His eyes went sad and dark and misty before he finally closed them. Xuxi held him against his chest and hoped the gentle thudding of his heart was enough to keep Ten’s nightmares at bay.

.


	10. Chapter 10

Xuxi blindly swatted at whatever was tickling his side with his hand and exhaled sharply when his hand met skin that wasn’t his own. He heard a soft yelp immediately following and forced his eyelids open, though they felt as heavy as boulders. 

Hendery was sitting off to the side of the pod, holding a hand to his chest with a pout on his pretty face. “You hit me!” He accused Xuxi with a pointed, webbed finger. 

“You were bothering him,” Ten said smoothly, softly. He sat beside Xuxi with arms looped around his knees that were hugged to his chest. His robes made it look like he had been painted in blood.

Xuxi rose, his head pounding with the movement, resting with one leg stretched out in front of him and the other tucked against him. His throat felt dry and parched. It was difficult for him to swallow. He scratched at the side of his neck in agitation as the sounds of the menagerie, lively now at what Xuxi assumed was early in the evening, filtered into his ears. Music and conversation from other pods, laughter and stories. He ignored the instinct he had to point his ears and fixate on an interesting sound to trace it to its source in favor of looking more closely at Ten.

Xuxi could not tell if Ten had slept. The smudges under Ten’s eyes were deep purple bruises, and looking into Ten’s eyes reminded Xuxi of stepping back into the dark mines on Atella after hours under the sun, of basking in precious light and understanding what it was to be warmed to his bones only to then be plunged into a void that pressed into him from all sides like a physical thing, like a glove of black velvet around his body. 

Ten’s eyes were dull and empty. Xuxi wanted to close the distance between them, to mold his body against Ten’s again, but whatever Yuqi had done to Ten to help him relax had worn off; now Ten held himself tightly, like an insect coiled into its shell, closed off and shuttered against the world.

“It is just like an Atellan to resort to violence for every little thing,” Hendery complained. “Even though all I was doing was making sure you were awake for the meal.”

“I could have woken him,” Ten said.

“You haven’t moved all day,” Hendery replied bluntly. Ten flinched and hid his face between his knees. 

Xuxi felt his lip curl meanly under his muzzle at Hendery, whose expression pinched into one of displeasure or annoyance. Xuxi wasn’t sure which—he was still learning to read the Siren.

Hendery continued with what Xuxi considered callous oblivion, “What did you do with the King last night, anyway? I want to know.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Hendery,” Ten snapped, shoulders rising to his ears.

Xuxi inched closer to Ten, hovering but not touching, wanting to make his presence, his offer of safety and protection, known. He threw a glare in Hendery’s direction and let the rumble of a growl gather in his chest in warning.

“You’re keeping it to yourself, then?” Hendery crossed his arms, barely glancing at Xuxi. “Fine. I’m sure the Prince will show me anyway, later at dinner tonight. He tells me I’m a very unique treasure, did you know?”

Ten said nothing and did not move, and when the silence wore on, Hendery set his searching stare upon Xuxi instead. Xuxi snorted out of his nostrils. He had been reminded of Kun’s plans for dinner by Hendery’s words. Was Hendery going to be there as well? Kun had made no mention of it.

“Well,” Hendery blustered, blue cheeks darkening. “Well! I am—treasured.” He stood and fussed with his robes even though they fell from his shoulders perfectly. “You know, just because the King loves you most doesn’t mean you can act however you want,” Hendery added hotly.

Ten’s horns flared suddenly, flooding the space with molten, gold light so bright and sharp and intense that Hendery stumbled back as though physically pushed, covering his face with the bend of his elbow. 

“Stop that!” Hendery shouted.

The light went out like a flame extinguished. “I’m sorry.” Ten’s voice was hushed and raw. He folded his hands over his horns, hiding them from view. “Sometimes I can’t help it.”

“Whatever,” Hendery muttered, clearly miffed. “You’re acting strange. I’m going.” He climbed out of the pod, throwing Xuxi and Ten both a look that did not hide his slightly alarmed confusion. 

Xuxi wondered if Hendery had ever seen Ten’s horns glow like that before. He wondered if Hendery had ever seen Ten like _this_ —withdrawn, anxious, scattered—before.

“They do that when I’m scared,” Ten said when Hendery was gone, so quietly Xuxi thought at first he was talking to himself. But then he raised his face finally from his knees and looked at Xuxi, exhaustion woven into his features. “They’re not supposed to anymore. At least not so intensely.” He sniffled, and his voice grew thick and wet. “We grew up training to fight the reflex. To overcome it. But it came back with—it just came back.”

It came back with whatever he had endured from the King, Xuxi gathered. He knew that the King was sadistic to his rotten core. Xuxi’s fist curled tightly into the furs underneath him, ripping out hairs. He thought of the myriad servants and slaves and even members of the court cycling through the King’s bedchambers. How many had been hurt by him? How many had survived him? 

How much longer could Ten survive him?

Xuxi needed to tell Ten about Kun and their deal. Ten needed to know he would not have to endure the King’s violence for much longer. And perhaps tonight, at dinner or after, Kun would realize how vital it was that Ten be protected from the King’s perverse passions and do something to shield Ten from him until Xuxi could win the third fight. 

And he would win the third fight. He had to. 

Xuxi desperately wanted to be able to speak.

Since he could not, he stretched out his hand over the furs, halfway between himself and Ten, fingers curled up like drying petals. An offering. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat to catch Ten’s attention.

Ten looked at his hand, then at Xuxi, then back at his hand, shaking his head slowly. “Oh,” he said. “No, I don’t think—”

The doors to the menagerie opened then, and the usual retinue of servants and guards flowed in with a selection of foods behind Sicheng. This time, however, Sicheng did not linger to supervise the food being set out and strode straight toward Xuxi’s pod. 

Ten’s lips clamped shut, and he reached out to take Xuxi’s hand in a crushingly tight grip, nails digging into Xuxi’s skin.

Xuxi winced at the sting, but more out of surprise than pain. He squeezed Ten’s hand back, and their eyes met above their interlaced fingers. The apprehension behind Ten’s irises made the blood in Xuxi’s veins begin to boil.

“Xuxi, come here,” Sicheng barked. 

Xuxi did not want to leave Ten’s side. He lifted their hands and waited for understanding to pass through Ten’s eyes. When they stood together slowly, it was only then that Xuxi noticed Ten favoring his left foot, leaning onto his right. 

“I can walk,” Ten said under his breath when he saw that Xuxi was staring. They moved slowly toward Sicheng after Xuxi helped Ten lift himself out of the pod.

Xuxi chewed on the inside of his cheek. Ten could walk, but could he dance? More and more as the dinner party loomed, the idea that the private event was a trap grew in Xuxi’s mind. Who were the guests, and why did Kun need Ten to perform when he had a menagerie full of other slaves and servants to choose from who were not bruised and battered? And Kun had evaded responding to Xuxi’s question of why the event must be now, while the King was away, which led Xuxi to think that there must be a reason—but would the reason benefit Xuxi or Ten in any way?

Ten trailed a step behind Xuxi, clutching Xuxi’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him afloat in a turbulent ocean. If Xuxi focused intently, he could hear Ten’s heartbeat skittering in his chest.

Sicheng was tapping the toe of his boot against the floor when they reached him, wearing his impatience in the slant of his eyebrows. “I suggest that you eat now,” he said to them both. He released the muzzle from Xuxi’s face with a quick, efficient movement. “I will return shortly so that you may be prepared to the Prince’s liking.”

“Prepared?” Ten shrunk behind Xuxi when Sicheng looked at him with a smirk.

“For tonight. You are the entertainment.” He glanced at Xuxi, smug. “You didn’t tell him?”

Xuxi ground his teeth together in irritation and squeezed Ten’s hand. “I have been muzzled,” he reminded Sicheng.

“Right.” Sicheng’s smirk grew wider. “Shame. Well, you will be entertaining Prince Kun tonight, and you—” he inclined his head toward Ten “—need to be cleaned up. To the Prince, the marks are...unseemly. They will be covered.”

Ten, flushing, lifted his free hand to his neck and rested the blade of his hand over the knot of his throat to cover the mottled bruises wrapped around him there like a collar. He looked down at the floor as though ashamed.

That angered Xuxi. How dare Sicheng shame Ten for the bruises when they were the ones hurting him? He stepped forward, pushing out his chest, upper lip pulled back in a sneer, but then Sicheng said with an air of nonchalance, “Oh. Also, Prince Kun has decided you will remain unmuzzled if you behave yourself and do as you’re told.”

The information stunned Xuxi as much as a shock from a guard’s baton, and he deflated. “Is—is this true?”

Sicheng scowled. “You question me? You question the Prince?”

The muzzle, removed. Just like that? What had Xuxi done to warrant this? Win the fights? Agree to convince Ten to dance prettily for the Prince and his guests? 

“No,” Xuxi said, still working through his confusion, head ringing with white noise. “No.”

Sicheng’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Do not think this means you are not being watched or guarded. We still control you.” He pointed to the collar at Xuxi’s neck. “But the Prince has graciously given you this...this little gift.”

He spun on his heel and left them there like two trees smoldering in a field after being struck by lightning. Xuxi saw Sicheng seek out Hendery, saw them speak, saw the way Hendery’s eyes brightened at the attention. 

But then something shifted, turned. After something Sicheng said, the fragile happiness on Hendery’s face suddenly shattered like the glass in a mirror dropped from a great height, and Hendery went rigid as ice. 

“It is not fair!” Hendery cried out, his words echoing off the walls and making activity in the menagerie come to a standstill. Beside Xuxi, Ten withdrew back into his shell as Hendery, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, stormed off to his pod where he dove into the water and did not come back up for air. Xuxi stared at the ripples in the water for a long time until the surface became smooth, wondering fleetingly what Sicheng had told him but still much too preoccupied with the tangible freedom of being able to move his jaw whenever he wanted. 

When Sicheng was gone, Xuxi and Ten had still not moved from their spots.

“We should eat,” Xuxi suggested carefully. “The Prince has mentioned you will be able to dine with him, but…” Xuxi trailed off, uncertain how to finish. They both knew that Kun’s promise of food and drink was a thin one, and subject to change on a whim. Kun wanted them for entertainment, first. And Xuxi could not shake the feeling that he wanted them for something else, something known only to Kun, second.

Ten was white as a pearl, his face grim, his eyes as dark and vivid as his bruises. Xuxi held out his hand.

.

Back in their pod, Xuxi tried to fill himself up with slices of sticky fish meat while watching Ten pick at the scant food on the plate before him. Today, the food did not go down smoothly no matter how long or vigorously Xuxi chewed; it coagulated on his tongue, clung to the sides of his esophagus on the way down. 

Ten moved things around on his plate, lifted morsels to his mouth, paused, then set them down again. Nothing passed his lips—neither food nor sound. After a couple rounds of this, he seemed to give up, shifting his plate to the side and easing himself down onto the furs in a fetal position. 

Xuxi let him rest there for a moment, but soon his anticipation for the evening event that loomed over their heads became too heavy for Xuxi to ignore. He felt that he’d been given the gift of speech and was wasting it. “Ten, I think you should eat something before we are called for,” he encouraged softly. 

“I’ll get sick,” Ten said in a flat monotone.

Xuxi tried again. “You’ll need your energy for tonight. The Prince—the Prince expects you to perform.”

“He just wants to fuck me. I don’t need energy for that.”

Xuxi winced as though Ten had whipped the sharp blade of a knife across his cheek. “He said it would just be dancing,” Xuxi mumbled, feeling foolish when Ten’s eyes rolled in his direction. Xuxi added, “If it’s anything more than that, I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe.”

Ten’s eyes flashed with the spark of life Xuxi had noticed and coveted and wanted to protect that first time that Ten spoke to him. He had not seen this spark in a while. Hope flared in Xuxi’s chest.

“Keep me _safe_?” Ten asked, his voice high and thin and grating, like the harsh drag of steel over stone. “How can you possibly do that?”

Xuxi put his plate down and straightened his shoulders where he sat. “I am already doing it,” he said. “I made a deal with the Prince. To win the fights and to win you from the King.” But the more he spoke, the more incredulous Ten’s expression became, and the less certain Xuxi was that what he was saying was _good_. “You—you will be free from him and be Kun’s,” he finished, feeling like the fish he’d eaten had reanimated and was trying to crawl back up his throat.

“Free from _him_ ,” Ten hissed, “and for what? To be the Prince’s plaything next? Or _yours_? Is that what you want, Xuxi?”

“N-No,” Xuxi said, even though that was exactly what he had wanted in the beginning. He’d wanted Ten to be his, and Prince Kun was an intermediary to his goal. He was going to save Ten from the King, who hurt him badly, and until Xuxi could figure out if he could escape this place and bring Ten with him, he would forge another deal with Kun. Kun was not like the King. Ten would be okay. He had to believe that Ten would be okay. 

Xuxi was protecting him. Why was Ten getting angry with him?

“You’re just like them,” Ten said. “You think with your cock.”

Xuxi’s nostrils flared. The vulgarity falling from Ten’s mouth was just as effective as a sharply honed weapon, and Xuxi’s ears and cheeks burned with humiliation. 

He hated himself at that moment. He hated how easily Ten could whittle him down to his basest, most animalistic desires. He hated how much the comment made him want to smother Ten’s face into the furs and rut into his soft, supple body. His blood boiled; he willed it back down to a simmer. 

“I’m not like them,” Xuxi insisted.

Ten sat up, pulling his robes in close around him. He held all of Xuxi in his gaze. “Prove it,” he said.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you s and r for the beta and hype <3


	11. Chapter 11

Dejun was waiting for Xuxi in the baths with his arms crossed and his mouth pinched. The humidity and steam made Dejun’s dark hair curl around his small face.

“Oh? The muzzle’s off,” Dejun observed, his tone light and conversational.

“It is.”

“You must be gaining his favor, then,” Dejun said. He clapped his hands together once, the sound echoing in the large chamber, a smile plastered across his face. “We will use wax this time. It lasts longer.”

Two guards with their batons remained as the servants got to work, first submerging Xuxi in the pool and then lathering soap all over his body while he stood as the water drained, and finally rinsing it off under a steady stream from the valve overhead. They dried him off and ushered him onto a raised marble slab that Xuxi could feel was still cool under the towel laid atop it. 

Xuxi did as he was told. This was a much nicer experience than the first time Dejun had gotten him ready to be officially presented before Weishen royalty, and Xuxi wondered if it was because he had gotten used to it or because they were treating him with more kindness by order of Prince Kun. He had seen the way Hendery revered Kun and thought Hendery to be blinded by his own naïveté at first, but now he was beginning to understand Hendery’s adoration of the Prince. Maybe because Kun now saw Xuxi as someone on his side, he would look out for him, the same way Xuxi wanted Kun to look out for Ten. 

Kun had fed Xuxi grilled meat. Kun rewarded him after the fights. Kun removed the muzzle. And now, Xuxi was relaxing in the baths.

Maybe Xuxi really was gaining Kun’s favor, and he deserved this kindness.

Then Dejun pasted a warm, sticky cloth over Xuxi’s bare shin, rubbed his hand over it, and ripped it in a swift movement from his skin. Xuxi _screamed_. The guards by the door changed their stance, ready to pounce, one hand hovering over their batons, but Dejun motioned at them to hold their positions. 

“ _Monster,_ ” Xuxi growled, cursing in Atellan. Then, in Weishenin: “Is this punishment, after all?”

Dejun showed Xuxi the strip of cloth while Xuxi heaved, tears jumping into his eyes at the lingering burn over his shin. The cloth was covered with Xuxi’s leg hairs. Xuxi looked down at his leg where there was now a shiny, rectangular patch of skin free of hair.

“This is horrible,” Xuxi complained.

“It only hurts for a bit. Your skin will be smoother than if we used a razor.’

“I don’t _care._ ”

“The Prince does,” Dejun said simply. “Now, will you allow us to do our work without trouble, or will I need the guards to subdue you?”

The guards moved closer subtly, looking all too eager to do whatever it took to ‘subdue’ Xuxi. 

Xuxi shook his head. “I won’t cause trouble,” he promised. He swallowed. “But will you use that—everywhere?”

“Everywhere.” Dejun nodded solemnly. His eyes skipped over Xuxi’s towel-covered groin. “It won’t be as painful as you think.”

.

Ten was brought into the baths while two servants rubbed Xuxi’s gleaming, nearly hairless body down with scented oils. As Dejun promised, they had waxed everywhere: his arms, under his arms, his legs, between his legs, his chest and his belly. They had even plucked and trimmed his eyebrows until they were thick, perfect arches. When Xuxi ran the palm of his hand over the muscled plane of his stomach, he marveled at how smooth he felt. Like silk.

Ten would not look at Xuxi, keeping his eyes cast to the floor and clutching the robes tight around his body. 

Being ignored stung as much as the kiss of a crackling baton against Xuxi’s skin. Xuxi had replayed their conversation over and over in his head, determined to understand where things had gone wrong, if he could have said something differently, but ultimately he concluded that Ten simply didn’t trust Xuxi to protect him. So Xuxi would prove that Ten could.

Once Ten was near the edge of the bathing pool, the servants escorting him moved away, and Xuxi saw how Ten had to shift his weight to keep his balance. His ankle was still hurting. Dejun approached.

“You’ll need to take your robes off, Ten,” Dejun said quietly under his breath, but Xuxi could hear.

Ten shuddered, and then he released the robes from his body. They fell to the ground in a red, watery heap. Xuxi swallowed the noise of surprise threatening to escape his throat. 

The ring of bruises around Ten’s neck and wrists were not the only marks his body carried. Deep purple bruises marred his torso, seemingly scattered until Xuxi could see the pattern emerging in Ten’s skin like a puzzle coming together in his mind. The starburst shape of the bruises where hard rope knots dug into muscle formed a lattice.

Ten hugged his arms around his middle. “Just get on with it, please.”

Xuxi heard Dejun sigh. “Do you need help getting into the pool?”

“I can do it,” Ten said.

The servant rubbing oil over Xuxi’s belly suddenly sank their hand lower, and Xuxi flinched back defensively, teeth snapping together as he swung his focus around to them. 

“No trouble, you said,” the servant reminded him, expression carefully blank. 

Xuxi held his breath. He nodded. Her hand reached between his legs, and he closed his eyes.

Ten got into the pool. Xuxi did not see the rest, as the servants finished their preparation of him quickly thereafter and wrapped him in a long red skirt, and he sat in a daze on the marble slab until Ten was ready.

“Xuxi.” Ten’s voice called him out of his mind fog. Xuxi blinked and saw Ten standing before him, dressed now in a set of red robes that had a slit running up the sides nearly up to Ten’s hip bones. There was no sign on the bruises at all, and his face was flawless and his skin dewy, his lips pink, his eyes a brilliant, icy blue against the shimmering silver dust glittering over his eyelids and cheekbones. He looked like he had been carved from crystal. “It’ll be okay, _baby_ ,” Ten said, using the Saphyrian word for the endearment.

The graceful extension of comfort from Ten despite their heated interaction earlier in the menagerie confused Xuxi. He thought Ten would want nothing to do with him for a while, at least until Xuxi could _prove it_. He stood, locking his knees before they could wobble and swallowing around the knot in his throat. “You look beautiful,” Xuxi said quietly.

“I look how the Prince wants me to look,” Ten said.

Xuxi whispered, “Then his vision of you is sublime.”

Ten smiled. It was an empty void of a smile, and it left Xuxi feeling like he was looking into the mouth of a dark cave. 

.

The dinner party was being held outside, in a small, intimate garden that Xuxi had not seen before. Only two guards had accompanied them on their journey to their destination, which Xuxi thought strange. They had to walk past the Prince’s chambers, around a corner, and down a short set of wide stairs to reach the glass doors that opened to reveal the pocket of manicured beauty in the middle of the estate, enclosed on three sides by tall white walls. Within the garden, for a moment, all Xuxi could take in were the brilliant blue flowers that bloomed from thorny black bushes, and the white flowers shaped like teardrops that hung in clusters from vines that crawled up the trellises lining the onyx stone pathway that rose out of the fine, silvery sand.

The bushes with the blue blossoms lined the pathway also, guiding the group to a gazebo that seemed to be gilded by pearl dust and that stood in the center of the garden. Xuxi could see two servants preparing four place settings at the table in the gazebo to one side. The other side of the gazebo was empty: a small performance area for Ten’s dance, later. He wondered who the Prince’s guests would be.

As they walked the pathway, the blue flowers bloomed between the black leaves, then curled up again, seeming to breathe in their presence. They seemed so radiant that they might glow in the dark, and at their fullest, seemed to be as large as the span of Xuxi's hand. Xuxi’s long red skirt dragged against the ground, and he reached a hand out to compare sizes.

“Don’t touch them,” Ten warned Xuxi quietly. “They’re poisonous.”

Xuxi shrank back from the edge of the pathway, cringing as another blue blossom sighed open next to him. “Why would they decorate a garden full of them?”

“They are not poisonous to the Nimrae,” Ten said.

“I see.” Xuxi hummed in thought. He could easily imagine a Nimrae official bringing an enemy to this garden under some false pretense and allowing that enemy to touch and smell the flowers. From a distance, their aroma was sweet and light, like sugar or honey. Intriguing and addictive. He wanted to know more about their poison, what kind it was, what happened when someone touched the blue petals, but a guard was prodding at the small of his back to move forward, so he grumbled and plodded up the steps of the gazebo, turning to help Ten, who was walking with stiff, short steps.

Ten jerked away from Xuxi's extended hand, and Xuxi recoiled, hurt and helpless. The push and pull was starting to make his head spin.

Dejun—or someone else, a healer, maybe—had wrapped Ten’s ankle in white gauze. Xuxi simmered with raw anger when he thought about Ten having to dance on it. Maybe he could talk to Kun; the Prince had been generous with him so far today. He could test how far that generosity went.

They were made to stand to the side of the table, by the gazebo’s edge, an arm’s length between them so that Xuxi could not help Ten keep his weight off his foot. Ten, however, seemed to be balancing and managing just fine; if not for the pinch at the corners of his lips and the sheen of sweat at his temples, Xuxi might not have noticed anything off about Ten at all. Dejun and the servants had painted him to perfection.

A servant with ruby eyes like Yuqi’s strode up to them as the guards took their positions beside the steps of the gazebo. “I assume you know how to conduct yourself,” he said to them both, nodding in their directions in acknowledgement. “You know not to touch the blue flowers? Don't touch them. Don’t make eye contact, speak when spoken to, do as you’re told. Tonight, especially.”

Xuxi lifted an eyebrow. “Especially?”

But the servant scoffed and turned away, going to complete preparations at the table. It was another thing that struck Xuxi as odd: usually Sicheng was present to order around the servants and the slaves, but tonight he was absent.

The dismissal from the servant made Xuxi want to fidget. He looked around the garden some more, admiring the breathing blue flowers, wondering if the white ones were poisonous as well or if they were simply beautiful, and twice stared at Ten hoping Ten would look up from the floor and at him, but Ten was resolute in not acknowledging anything that was going on around them anymore. He had retreated back into his shell.

He was about to call out Ten’s name to draw him out from behind the walls he’d put up when the glass doors opened again, and the Prince stepped through.

He looked smaller, less angular and severe, dressed in flowing layers of black and red, the fabric cinched at the waist with a wide belt embellished by intricate beaded embroidery, a burst of golden waves. His hair fell forward over his eyes. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his spine straight, relaxed but proud. Casual still looked regal on him.

Kun was not alone. Beside him was a man as tall as Xuxi, and perhaps even a bit broader in the shoulders. It was not immediately noticeable that he was Weishenin: his robes were lilac and iridescent, reflecting colorful light, and he carried a light pink fan in his hand that he flicked open and closed with practiced ease, the _schick-schick_ when the small panels of the fan fully extended echoing slightly off the walls. When he smiled at seeing the garden before him the smile was wide, open, inviting. Only the grey pallor of his skin and the red trident drawn onto his temple marked him as one of Kun’s kind. Next to him, Kun looked like a begrudging younger brother in a charming older brother’s shadow.

To this man’s other side was a silver-haired man slightly taller than Kun wearing a veil that draped from the points of his understated, ivory crown atop his head. He did not carry himself with the freedom of the taller man, his shoulders hunched and tight. He had two small horns curving up from his forehead at his hairline, just like Ten.

Ten, who had finally looked up as the Prince and his guests entered the garden and approached the gazebo.

Ten, who gasped quietly at something he saw, something he noticed, and ducked his eyes again, this time lower than before.

“What is it?” Xuxi asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Be quiet!” Ten hissed. The servant with ruby eyes glared at them from across the table at the disturbance, and Xuxi rolled his shoulders back in annoyance.

As Kun and his guests neared, Xuxi began to overhear the muted conversation between them, and he strained to catch the intimate whispers, curious about what had made Ten startle like that. The tall one and Kun seemed familiar with each other, while the third man seemed apathetic to them both.

“—seems like you’ve done well for yourself. You have a whole _wing,_ Kun.” This, coming from the other Weishen man. Xuxi’s eyes widened at the lack of formal title used in addressing the Prince.

“And a seat in the war room, Youngho,” Kun shared, “where I can see for myself how the generals’ scrabbling for power leads to incompetence and underperformance.”

“Weishen’s way for all,” Youngho sighed, shaking his head.

“It is this _incompetence,_ as you say, that has made the Weishen Empire so feared and revered,” the veiled man said, his voice soft and lofty, floating above the undercurrent of distaste Xuxi could sense in his words. “Prince Kun,” he added like an afterthought.

“Taeyong,” Youngho chided playfully. “Don’t be like this. Let’s put aside our titles and obligations like we said we would.”

They had reached the gazebo and climbed the steps. Closer now, Xuxi could see how Taeyong's eyes behind his veil were narrowed and discerning.

Movement in Xuxi's peripheral made his muscles tense, and he turned to look just as Ten dropped to his knees and folded over himself, cupped hands raised to the sky. Alarmed, Xuxi wondered if he needed to do the same, but none of the other servants had moved other than to lower their heads.

Then Ten said, in the smooth legato of Saphyrian, “ _The Only Light, we welcome you._ ”

Taeyong gasped, and then he moved like liquid, flowing over to Ten and matching his palms with his own, then holding his wrists and pulling him to stand. " _Child of the Light, you are hurt,_ " he said, holding Ten's face gently in his hands.

Xuxi bristled, jealous that Ten did not flinch away from the touch.

Ten stood with his fingers twisting together in front of himself. He nodded.

Taeyong whirled to face Kun, who was standing behind one of the place settings at the table beside Youngho, and when he released Ten from his hold, Ten fell back against the gazebo's railing, breathing hard. "Did you bring me here to flaunt how you treat my people? Our gifts?" Taeyong hissed in fluent Weishenin.

"Taeyong—"

"How the _King_ treats your people," Kun corrected with a bland, placating smile plastered across his face. "I am not my father."

"And I am not mine," Taeyong responded icily. His eyes flicked to the servants around the edges, to the guards.

Kun said, "We can speak freely here. You have my word."

"That doesn't mean much to me, I'm afraid."

"What about mine?" Youngho said, stepping forward slightly, closer to the table. He put both hands on the back of the chair and leaned forward, and Taeyong seemed to falter in his defiance. To soften around the edges.

Kun must have noticed, too, because he pushed on. "Youngho believes we have similar interests."

"Not similar interests," Taeyong said. "But perhaps a desire for outcomes that would be beneficial to us both."

Kun paused, head tilted. Xuxi recognized the steely expression in Kun’s eyes as careful consideration. "Then let us share a meal together, Only Light of Saphyr," Kun said. "And see how we might be friends."

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone who helped to shape this chapter ❤️


	12. Chapter 12

The meal started with the decision to cancel Ten’s performance.

“He cannot dance like this,” Taeyong insisted, and to Xuxi’s relief, Kun agreed readily, seeing the extent of Ten’s injuries now. Xuxi felt the tension he’d been holding inside of his chest snap.

“I will send him back so he may rest and recover,” Kun said. He raised his hand to signal for a servant, but Taeyong interrupted.

“No, he should stay,” he said in a lofty voice. “There are other ways he may entertain us.” 

The tension in Xuxi’s chest returned as Youngho, playing nonchalantly with his fan, chuckled in Xuxi and Ten’s direction. Taeyong’s gaze skimmed over the garden at length, over the brilliant blue flowers, over the servants and guards, and finally over Xuxi. 

Xuxi did not know where to look, so he kept his eyes trained ahead, above them all.

“Is that an Atellan?” Taeyong asked.

“It is,” Kun said slowly. “His name is Xuxi.”

“Is it wise to call them by name?” 

Xuxi felt his nostrils flare, and he clenched his fingers into a fist behind his back. Light glanced off a ridge of Ten’s horn when Ten glared at him in warning. Xuxi rolled his shoulders back and ground down through the pads of his feet into the floor. 

He was still trying to work out why he was here in this strange garden with dangerous flowers. What might have been a suspicious but harmless private dinner turned seditious the moment Taeyong walked through the door. What business did the First Prince of Weishen have meeting rulers of other planets and empires alone, while the King was away?

Taeyong took his seat when Kun offered, and when they had settled around the table, the servants brought out a tray of delicate flowers between them to place in the center. At first, Xuxi thought it was just more decoration, but then Taeyong, with barely tempered enthusiasm behind his wide eyes, reached for a pink bud and peeled its delicate petals back, and then he ate it, stamen-first. Youngho followed with a purple blossom, and Kun reached out with a halting hand before settling on a yellow one.

Xuxi watched Kun as he placed it on his tongue. He kept such a straight, expressionless face while chewing that Xuxi knew he didn't like it.

So Kun was eating it for show, then, Xuxi thought, as Taeyong ate another, savoring it with a little hum. The Saphyrian seemed to prefer the pink ones, plucking them up and hoarding them on his side of the large platter.

"I didn't think the Weishenin would serve Saphyrian delicacies," Taeyong said.

"I told him it was your favorite," Youngho said, grinning. "Mentioned it only once, but I should have known Kun would remember. He's good with details."

"You've never tried it?" Taeyong asked Kun. Kun had just eaten another yellow flower, barely holding back a grimace, and Taeyong smirked with a tiny snort. "The yellow ones are sour. They're meant to be eaten in between the others. But I avoid them. I prefer the sweetness of the pink."

"Of course," Kun said, swallowing and clearing his throat. Xuxi noticed that he reached for a purple flower next. "I'm intrigued by the flavors. You don't find them much in Weishen cuisine."

"No sweetness in your food," Taeyong said. "Perhaps it is indicative of a larger problem."

"Taeyong..." Youngho warned in a low voice, but Kun smiled at the underhanded comment and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Perhaps you are right," Kun said diplomatically.

The response gave Taeyong pause. His eyes widened, then narrowed in discernment. " _Child of the Light_ ," Taeyong said, motioning. "Come here."

Ten’s shoulders straightened at being called. He rocked forward, then back, then glanced furtively at Kun, whose brows were furrowed in thought. Kun dipped his chin. Ten moved to the table slowly, coming around to Taeyong's side and starting to lower himself onto his knees, but Taeyong stood gracefully and stopped him with a finger under his chin.

"Stand up. It must have been so long since you've had a taste of home. Open your mouth," Taeyong said.

Ten opened his mouth, his eyes half-lidded, and Xuxi watched, transfixed and mesmerized, as Taeyong pinched a pink bud between his fingers and pushed it between Ten's lips.

"Close," Taeyong said, keeping his fingers where they were, hooked behind Ten's bottom lip. He dragged them out slowly and wiped them on the edge of Ten’s robes, sighing. “ _Poor thing_ ,” he said under his breath.

Then Taeyong turned to Kun with a gaze as sharp and hard as diamonds. “He has been misused,” he accused, hand cupped Ten’s chin still, keeping Ten on his feet. He continued, “He deserves to be treated like the crown jewel of one’s collection. Not tossed around like a 2-credit whore. The years of training and resources that went into him… He is a prize.”

“And a generous gift from a generous ruler,” Kun said. His tone was gracious, conciliatory, and very assured. “I know he is a prize. I would see him treated as such.”

Again, Taeyong paused. He lowered his hand from Ten’s neck, and Ten wilted before stepping away, propping himself up against the rail on the other side of the gazebo. 

“Would you?” Taeyong asked. “How would you see to it?”

“The King and I have a game going. My Atellan will win him from the King.”

“ _Your_ Atellan?” Taeyong lifted a brow as Xuxi’s chest inflated with something like pride. 

“That’s right,” Kun continued with a soft gesture of his fingers in Xuxi’s direction. 

Xuxi interpreted it the same as though Kun had called his name, so he moved forward and was rewarded with Kun’s closeted smile. He expected it when Kun reached out to brush the back of his hand over his bicep. 

“Xuxi is a capable and skilled fighter,” Kun added when Xuxi stood beside him. “He considers the prize—your gift, Ten—to be very great. Just as I do. We are similar in that we will go to untold lengths to protect what we love.”

Xuxi could not help but look at Ten in that moment, feeling caught, like Kun had cut him down by the backs of his ankles, and was more surprised to find that Ten was looking back at him, his eyes wide and dark, his face pale. He looked like he had just lost something very important to him.

“It’s true,” Youngho said with a lazy grin on his handsome face. “Kun is very protective and possessive of the things he holds dear. It’s...ill-advised to be on his bad side.”

Taeyong nodded, lips pursed in thought. “Your Atellan loves my gift,” he said. “And I love Saphyr. Tell me, Prince Kun, what is it that you love?”

“Unquestionably, the Empire,” Kun said.

“And how can we each protect what we love?”

Kun’s hand tightened around Xuxi’s bicep. “First, let me tell you about Atella. It is a wonderful planet,” Kun said. “On the surface, it seems to be nothing but desert with the occasional patch of green. But underneath, it has such a vast system of caves and tunnels that no one, not even the Atellans, could capture its entirety on a map. And the people are so strong. So…obedient.”

A growl was rumbling in the back of Xuxi’s throat, but then Kun released him and leaned forward in his seat, crooking his finger at Ten. “Come,” Kun said, and this time Xuxi saw that there was no hesitation on Ten’s part. When Kun patted his thigh, Ten sat with a long, breathy sigh. “We’ve kept you standing for too long. My apologies.”

Xuxi was close enough to see the shock in Ten’s face at the words. 

“My Prince,” Ten murmured. “I must apologize for not being able to dance.”

Kun stroked his hand over Ten’s brow, pushing back his silver hair, gently rubbing his palm over one of Ten’s horns. The action rendered Ten into putty in Kun’s hands, and Ten moaned quietly, nuzzling his cheek against Kun’s chest. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Kun said softly.

Kun’s overt gentleness was a terrifying thing to witness, Xuxi thought, and his stomach twisted in growing anxiety. He shuffled on his feet, agitated.

Taeyong watched Kun’s display with open incredulity but kept his tone carefully curious and searching. “I see. Are most Atellans like Xuxi, here?”

“Yes,” Kun said. “I think you’ll find my Atellans to be very useful as you work to expand the number of ports where you are able to trade. If we pool our resources, you’ll be able to expand quickly, effortlessly.”

“And in return…?”

“In return, I would like access to your trade routes and your connections. And I should like your support when the time comes.”

Ten’s hitch of breath was tiny and invisible, but Xuxi felt his spark of fear as viscerally as a prick of a needle into his skin. With just a few choice words, the mood had shifted into something much heavier, like a pall cast over their shoulders. Like great weight to carry. Xuxi understood deep in his core that the tide of the conversation was turning, that a storm was brewing. 

And Kun wanted him here, listening.

“Prince Kun, you’re treading dangerous waters. Some may question your loyalty.”

“My loyalty is to the Empire. No one may question that,” Kun responded coolly. He snapped his fingers and the pair of servants sprang forward to clear the platter of flowers from the table. “Others with far more power are loyal only to themselves."

Taeyong remained a pillar of stillness as the servants brought forth another tray, this one smaller and laden with roasted cuts of meat and vegetables drizzled in a sweet, sticky syrup. The aromas made Xuxi’s mouth water. The servants moved as one to transfer a generous helping of meat and vegetables to the smaller plates that sat before Kun and his guests. It was its own kind of dance, practiced and precise. 

“Youngho had mentioned something to get me here, but… I didn’t allow myself to believe him,” Taeyong said.

“That is good,” Kun said. “It must not be believable.”

“I see.”

“Then, shall we call ourselves partners?”

“I...think you leave me no choice,” Taeyong admitted, his begrudging respect making him sound half-astonished, half-resentful.

“Excellent. Youngho will share the details with you.” Kun fed Ten a small, glistening morsel of meat with his fingers. “Now, we have a meal to enjoy. And I would like to get to know you better, since we are to be good friends.”

.

While Kun, Taeyong, and Youngho spoke around the table, Kun fed Ten by hand and raised skewers of meat and vegetables for Xuxi to eat. It should have been humiliating, but the food was too delicious and Xuxi was too hungry for him to find any offense in the treatment. 

Throughout the meal, Taeyong kept referring to the delicacy of the flowers from the first course. It appeared Taeyong was not only fond of eating the flowers, but also of studying and cataloging the many types and species native to Saphyr, and he was slowly collecting rare and precious specimens from other planets, as well. He asked about the blue flowers and listened intently when Kun explained they were poisonous.

“I would love to bring a sample home with me,” Taeyong said.

“Of course.” Kun asked a servant to prepare a clipping for the Saphyrian to take with him on his journey back as the dinner concluded, and the small group exchanged farewells. 

Xuxi was surprised when Youngho drew Kun in for a gentle hug, even though it was nothing more than a squeeze of his arm around his shoulders. “Take care,” Youngho whispered into Kun’s ear. “And be careful.”

“You know I will be,” Kun said.

A similar exchange was happening between Taeyong and Ten to the side. As Xuxi watched, Taeyong drew Ten near and pressed their foreheads together, their eyes closed. Soft light pulsed through their horns once, and then they parted. “ _In darkness,_ ” Taeyong said quietly, “ _you must make your own light.”_

“ _It will be so,_ ” Ten responded.

Taeyong and Youngho left, bracketed on either side by a guard and a servant. Kun, Ten, and Xuxi remained in the garden, with Minghao and another guard lingering at the base of the stairs to the gazebo.

Kun pulled Ten onto his lap again, and it was quiet. The balls of Xuxi’s feet were starting to ache from standing in place for so long. The dinner was over, but they had still not been dismissed. All around them, the flowers sighed open and closed in waves, and it reminded Xuxi of the ebb and flow of the tide. 

Kun pressed his nose to the base of Ten’s skull and inhaled deeply, his arms wrapped loosely around Ten’s waist. He said, “When the King asks you what has passed these three days, you will tell him nothing of this.”

Light pulsed through Ten’s horns before he covered them with his hands and curled himself up as small as he could in Kun’s lap. “Please—Please don’t make me go back…” he begged.

“You must go back. For just a couple more days,” Kun promised. “Xuxi must win.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Ten asked. There was a strange and innocent quality to his voice that Xuxi had not heard before, not from Ten. 

Xuxi stepped forward in a rush, hip nearly grazing Kun’s arm. “I will.”

“There, see?” Kun said, sounding pleased. “He will win. You will be mine. But I cannot help you if the King finds out about this dinner.”

Ten nodded, eyes wide with understanding. “I’ll say nothing.”

Kun did not need to remind Xuxi to keep his secret; Xuxi would keep it, whatever the cost, and Kun knew that. They simply regarded each other, eye to eye, as Kun allowed Ten to slip from his thighs.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you friends for the support <3


	13. Chapter 13

There was not much for Xuxi and Ten to do in the evening when they returned to the menagerie. The bed slaves had been called to their masters and mistresses, and the lights were dim and low. Yuqi found them in their pod and spoke with them for a short time, inquiring after their activities.

“Was it really just a performance?” she asked. “A private one?”

Xuxi tried to come up with a believable lie, but Ten was faster to it.

Ten said, “The Prince wanted to observe the dance I have prepared for the King’s return in two days. To ensure it will please him.”

“And will it please him?”

Ten stretched his arms overhead, yawning hugely before sinking down onto the black furs, curled on his side beside Xuxi. “He is optimistic,” Ten said.

Yuqi rose to her feet. “Sorry, I’m keeping you from resting.” She smoothed her flowing robes down her thighs. “I’ll go.”

She reached out her hand and cupped her palm around Xuxi’s shoulder and squeezed. Xuxi knew it was meant to offer comfort, but he found none in the soft warmth of her skin. When she had gone, Xuxi wondered if Yuqi could feel truths being obscured the way she could feel happiness or sadness or loneliness. He resolved never to let her touch him again.

.

The menagerie was never truly silent. Slaves were always coming and going, with servants, guards, and handlers escorting them, but the pace of this did slow when the moon was at its brightest, and the murmuring of private conversations blended into the ambiance. It was at this time, just as Xuxi was closing his eyes determined to sleep that he heard Ten calling him from the other side of their small pod.

Xuxi rolled over and was reminded of the distance between them. They had not touched since returning, but Xuxi had already learned that it was better to wait for Ten to come to him.

"Xuxi, I'm cold," Ten hissed, his mouth puckered into a pout, his blue eyes pale. He had changed into a thicker set of robes that he'd taken from the menagerie's communal shelves, but he had not done up the front properly and his shoulder and chest were bare, skin pebbling. Xuxi surveyed the ample furs around them both, puzzled.

Ten rolled his eyes. "Come _here_ , Xuxi."

Xuxi grunted and moved. "I can fetch more furs..." he began to offer, but Ten shook his head impatiently.

"Lie down," Ten ordered, keeping his voice low. "Put your arm around me. Good. No, I don't want more furs. I want to talk."

Ten's chilled body warmed against Xuxi's. Xuxi allowed Ten to arrange him to his own comfort so that one of Xuxi's arms was under Ten's head and the other was draped around his waist.

"Talk?" Xuxi repeated.

"Yes, talk." Ten huffed, agitation adding speed to his words. He continued in Atellan. "About what happened. Don't you want to talk about what happened? Haven't you thought about it?"

Xuxi had thought about it silently and alone, as he was accustomed to doing. It had been a long time since he was a boy on the vineyard on Atella, exchanging conversation freely without the threat of being silenced. He was often thinking, and sometimes even mired in the endless revolutions of his thoughts, having no outlet for them. Coming out of his thoughts and voicing them aloud...sometimes it was easier not to.

Ten looked at him with exasperation, and Xuxi realized he had been quiet for too long.

"Of course I have thought about it," he said in Atellan as well.

"And?" Ten prompted. He seemed renewed with inquisitive energy. Xuxi could tell his mind was racing behind his wide eyes.

"And..." Xuxi swallowed. "And if you're worried about the King, you do not have to worry for much longer."

Ten bared his teeth. "Do you think of nothing but having me to yourself?"

"I just want to ensure your—"

"The First Prince is planning to depose the King," Ten said, his words cutting across Xuxi's with all the sharpness and effectiveness of a blade. "Did you not understand all that?"

The insult was felt physically, setting his blood to boiling in an instant. Xuxi pressed his lips together, breathing slowly out of his nostrils. His hand tightened into a fist behind Ten's back. He concentrated on releasing them, stretching them out. He nodded.

Ten looked contrite. He lowered his gaze to Xuxi's chest and floated his fingers above Xuxi's collarbone, tracing the protruding edge with a phantom touch. "Sorry. I didn’t mean—Why didn't you just say that?"

"It is not what I care about most," Xuxi said.

"Fool," Ten bit out, but it was softened by tenderness. “You should care about it. You should care about more than just me.”

“Why should I care what happens with the Empire? It will still be the Empire.”

“But it could _change_ ,” Ten insisted, almost snarling. 

“Then it will change,” Xuxi said. “And you will still be safe.”

Ten’s cheeks were flushed with color, his eyes dark. He wet his lips with his tongue. “Why do you care so much?” 

Xuxi shivered when Ten’s palm flattened over his breast. He stirred between his legs and groaned as Ten’s hand traveled lower. 

“When I was on Atella,” he began, stilted and stumbling over his words, willing his blood to flow back up into his brain. He needed Ten to understand how important he was to him, and why. “I worked in the mines. In the event of a cave-in, you must look for light. Any light. And once you find it, you do whatever you can to keep it in your sight. To hold onto it. To move toward it, if you can. Toward the surface. Toward freedom.” 

He took Ten’s hand before it could reach the smooth expanse of skin below his belly button, drawing it up so that he could brush his lips over the back of Ten’s hand, and Ten whimpered.

“I can’t look at the darkness around us, Ten. I’ll lose myself in it.”

Ten curled his fingers around Xuxi’s and held their hands at the hollow of his own throat. His lashes were dewy with tears, his breath hot and breaking over Xuxi’s skin. Ten tipped his chin forward and pushed himself closer, higher, until their lips were touching. His pulse beat against Xuxi’s knuckles.

The kiss lasted a mere moment; it lasted forever.

“Oh, Xuxi,” Ten sighed when he had pulled back. “I wish I could be that for you. Your light. Your freedom.” A squeeze of his hand before he rolled over in the circle of Xuxi’s arms. “But it’s not possible. I have things I must take care of. Alone.”

.

Ten’s words steeped in the deepest folds of Xuxi’s brain for the remainder of the night and well into the morning. When Sicheng called him away from the menagerie for training, he followed him out with the stiff, aching muscles that had resulted from holding himself in a tight coil against Ten’s back for hours. 

What things did Ten need to take care of, and why could he not share them with Xuxi? Was it the King? Was it Kun? Was Ten worried the coup Kun was planning would fail? From what Xuxi had gathered last night, Kun was still in the very beginning stages of his machinations, gathering up his allies in secret. Xuxi didn’t know much about coups, but he assumed _more_ needed to happen before an attempt to overthrow could take place. 

So they had time. The more immediate need was to remove Ten from the King’s grasp, right?

Xuxi dodged the messy jab of a spear and spun backward on the ball of his foot, swinging his fist around and slamming it into the side of a guard’s helmet, sending him sprawling to the ground. Another guard advanced on Xuxi’s left and was able to clip him with his baton—unpowered so that it was just a blunt stick—while Xuxi was distracted with his thoughts.

Today’s training was different; spectators still gawked from the windows looking into the gym, but this time Kun himself was overseeing the exercises from his comfortable seat in the corner beside a table filled with platters of food and pitchers of drink. A servant lingered behind him, in shadow.

A little zap in Xuxi’s collar let him know Kun had seen the misstep and was not pleased.

Kun clapped his hands and the four guards surrounding Xuxi dropped their fists, drooped over at their waists to catch their breaths. “What was that?” Kun barked. “You’ve got to move faster.”

“I was thinking,” Xuxi grunted.

Kun scoffed. “What for? Don’t think, react. The King will not make the last fight easy. I’m sure he is planning something for the crowd’s entertainment.”

Xuxi tried to see Kun through Ten’s eyes. The Prince was handsome, for sure, but that was objective. Kun was also calculating and shrewd and treated Ten gently. But at the same time, he was his father’s son, and the shadow of the King would always loom behind him. 

Xuxi did not believe a successful coup would significantly change things for someone like him, a slave. He would still be a slave, albeit under a more powerful master.

Maybe Ten believed differently for himself, or even for them both. Maybe he saw a world that Xuxi could not even begin to imagine.

“Again,” Kun commanded the guards. “Do not go easy.”

Xuxi heard the crackle of the batons as they were powered. He snarled, upper lip curling, and this time when the guards attacked, he dispatched them easily in an agile dance, throwing one into another, tossing another over his shoulder, and simply tripping the last. They were not beasts and could not fight on instinct, and they were no match against Xuxi’s full focus and sharp reflexes.

“Better,” Kun hummed, paying no heed to his groaning guards.

Xuxi imagined Kun on the throne. He believed Kun, at the very least, would be different from his father.

.

Laughter greeted Xuxi when he returned to the menagerie. The slaves and some servants had gathered into and around the pods clustered in the far corner, and many were dancing in the space between them. Xuxi spotted Hendery in the crush of bodies. Cheery music played on a combination of stringed instruments and drums buffeted the dancers, who tapped their feet in time to the quick rhythm. 

A party.

It was strange to see the guards standing still as statues around the edges, not intervening.

Yuqi skipped up to him. “Xuxi! Come. They’re celebrating.” She took him by the arm but he pulled himself out of her grasp, remembering his promise to himself last night. Her expression did not even falter as she beckoned at him instead.

“What are they celebrating?” He followed her. They stayed at the edges of the crowd, circumventing the area where the laughter, conversation, and music were loudest.

“It is said the King has secured Nimrae’s submission. The Empire has won here.”

Xuxi paid attention to the way Yuqi said it— _They’re celebrating. The Empire has won here—_ like Yuqi was separate from the other slaves, who thought themselves a part of the Empire. 

“Does the Prince know?” Xuxi asked. Surely the King would inform his own son, the Prince, of such an important achievement as soon as he could, but Kun had been with Xuxi all afternoon, and Xuxi did not recall any servants or couriers interrupting their training to deliver such important news. 

Her expression was grim, disquieting. “If not yet, I am sure he will know soon. The King returns tonight.”

Xuxi’s eyes widened. “But that’s a day early!” He thought of Ten. “Where’s—”

“He’s here. Maybe seeing you will help him…” 

Yuqi dragged him into one of the pods where a few other slaves, servants, and a pair of guards were watching Ten dance in the center with his eyes closed. His sheer robes had fallen from his shoulders, held up only by the sash wrapped tightly around his waist. When he spun, his clothing unfurled around him like a flower’s petals, but his movements were unsteady and plodding, holding very little of the grace Xuxi was used to seeing. Coming closer, Xuxi could guess why: Ten’s scent was off—too sweet, slightly chemical. 

Ten stumbled. Xuxi rushed forward to collect him, but Ten batted at Xuxi’s hands with uncoordinated elbows and fists. Xuxi noticed the guards looking at each other, their hands wandering toward their batons at their hips. 

“Let me help you,” Xuxi tried to reason with Ten, who opened his eyes and looked at him and began to laugh. 

“Did you hear? The King is coming back,” Ten said. His pupils were wide, dark, and empty.

Xuxi could feel Ten growing heavy in his arms and he brought them over near the edge of the pod to sit. Before them, Yuqi was telling the others that the show was over. The slaves and servants grumbled and left, escorted by Yuqi, but the guards remained nearby, watching. 

Xuxi asked Ten in Atellan, “Are you hurt?”

Ten laughed again, loose and open, and folded himself in Xuxi’s lap. “Hurt! Hurt? You ask if I’m hurt? Oh, it hurts and hurts.” He pressed his face against Xuxi’s neck and hummed. “I close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else, but it still hurts. He likes it better when I _pay attention_.”

“I will talk to the Prince,” Xuxi said. His heart felt as hot as coal burning in his chest. “He’ll come. He won’t see you hurt. He said so himself.”

Ten clapped his hands over Xuxi’s cheeks, shocking him into attention. “You have not won me yet,” Ten reminded him. “But the King. The King has won. A victory for Weishen. And now me to spoil.” Ten’s head lolled back, heavy. He righted himself by clutching at Xuxi’s shoulders, and Xuxi hugged himself closer, hoping to ground him. “Don’t worry. The nectar makes it hard to remember. I put together the tapestry of the night in the morning when I can.”

“I will come with you,” Xuxi offered through clenched teeth, trying not to crush Ten in his arms.

Ten shook his head. “Oh, no no no no. No.”

“Ten—”

Ten butted his head under Xuxi’s chin. The length of his soft, velvet smooth horn stroked along the jugular, triggering a full-body shiver for them both. They trembled against each other, and Ten pressed his mouth against Xuxi’s collarbone, and then he dug his teeth into him.

It made Xuxi’s entire body feel like light. He folded himself down until the tips of their noses were touching, and Ten panted into Xuxi’s mouth.

“You can’t help me now,” Ten whispered. “But when I ask for it—when I need it the most—will you help me then? Do everything in your power to help me then?”

“Yes,” Xuxi hissed.

“Swear it to me,” Ten said.

Xuxi felt that he could breathe fire. “I swear it.”

“Do not fight the guards when they come to take me,” Ten said.

Xuxi clenched his teeth until they ached. Doing nothing as the guards approached made Xuxi feel small, but he sat there obediently as Ten was foisted from him, as he was dragged to the doors. 

Behind him, the celebrations continued.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your patience! and thank you s for reading this over ❤️ 
> 
> we're close to the end of xuxi's part!


	14. Chapter 14

There was a feast that evening that reminded Xuxi of the uninhibited revelry on Atella during the Season of the High Moon. Gone were the usual stoic lines of soldiers and guards and quiet court officials sitting at the long tables through a stifling dinner; tonight, people mingled and lauded the King’s victory over Nimrae. Food, drink, and spoils lay sprawled over the tables, spilling onto the floor. 

Servants and slaves flitted between groups of increasingly inebriated Weishenin, and Xuxi knew it was only a matter of time before one slave was plucked from their duties to serve another need and the celebrations would shift to more carnal pleasures. He seethed from behind Kun on the dais. 

The King was devouring a whole slab of raw fish, sucking on the bones and using them to pick between his teeth. Seated next to him was one of his generals, the band around her arm marked with the crest of the Empire. He laughed at something the general was saying, the sound of his joy making Xuxi’s stomach turn.

Ten was not here, and Xuxi didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried. Since the King had not brought Ten, he could not be put on display in front of all these ravenous Weishenin. Only hours had passed since Ten was torn from Xuxi’s side in the menagerie, but what if the King had not brought Ten because of how badly Ten was hurt? The King had gleefully exposed Ten’s humiliation and the violence he’d inflicted upon him before tonight—what was stopping him now? 

“Eat this.”

Kun’s voice pulled him out of the depths of his thoughts like a hand through the water, and Xuxi emerged blinking and blinded and with a great shudder.

“It is just _gorpa,_ ” Kun explained, waving the slice of fish around. His eyes were narrowed with impatience and warning. It probably did not look good for the First Prince to be pleading with a slave. Not that he was pleading.

On Kun’s lap, Hendery was eyeing the piece hungrily. He said, “It’s a delicacy.”

Xuxi leaned forward, needing to bend his knees to lower himself and take it into his mouth since his wrists were bound. He ate it from Kun’s fingers. All fish tasted the same to him.

“And stop glaring,” Kun ordered out of the side of his mouth. “Or a soldier will come, wanting to pick a fight.”

“They will lose,” Xuxi growled.

“Yes, yes.” Kun waved another piece of fish in the air before Xuxi’s face. When Xuxi had the slick flesh between his teeth, Kun turned in his seat and curved his palm around Hendery’s trim, silk-covered waist. A sweet chirruping noise trilled from the back of Hendery’s throat when Kun began to pet him there. The Siren was the very picture of happiness, balanced on Kun’s lap, eating what Kun brought to his lips. 

The King laughed again, shouting for his cup to be refilled, for everyone’s cups to be refilled, and the hatred within Xuxi’s heart grew.

Xuxi stepped forward, the chains between his ankles clanking. “First Prince, do you know where—?”

“Quiet,” Kun snapped over his shoulder. “Not here.” The sudden ice in his voice made Hendery whimper and shiver. Xuxi narrowed his eyes and glowered. “Sorry, pet,” Kun soothed, rubbing his hand over the small of Hendery’s back.

Chastised and dismissed, Xuxi clenched his fists and pushed against his restraints. There was nothing he could do or say, and it dawned on him finally that there was nothing _Kun_ could do or say—not in front of all these people. Not now. Not yet. 

Despite all the power Kun had over Xuxi, Kun had little influence in his father’s presence. 

The timeline of Kun overthrowing the King stretched out before Xuxi like an unraveling spool of thread. The ending Xuxi thought was within reach spun away from him. How long had Kun been planning his coup? How much longer until he would pull together the pieces of his plan and put it into action? The Prince, comfortable in his seat beside the throne, could wait. His patience did not harm him. But for people like Xuxi, and for people like Ten, waiting was not an option. 

Xuxi realized how complicit he was in Ten’s abuse. He had seen it right away, and he had waited. He had hoped for Kun to do something about it. He had hoped Kun would be fast enough. He had thought he was doing all he could himself by playing the King and Kun’s game. 

_An object who saw himself as one could only see other objects._

He had thought that about Hendery upon meeting him. How he’d pitied Hendery for so long, not seeing how he was just like him! Xuxi might never sit on the Prince’s lap, but he just as readily and easily molded himself to stand stunted in the long shadow Kun cast.

How could he step out from behind it? He felt himself growing desperate to act. 

Kun had leaned closer to the King, and Xuxi’s ears twitched in their direction to take in their conversation. 

“Where is the little Saphyrian, anyway, Father?” Kun asked, keeping his voice light. Xuxi’s heart tightened into a stone in his chest, heavy like an anchor. 

Drink sloshed around in the King’s cup as he boasted, “Warming my bed.”

Xuxi clenched his fists so tight that his nails cut into his palms. 

Kun chuckled along with his father. “I hope you haven’t worn him out too much. I’d like to play with him when I win.”

The King barked out laughter, startling the servant refilling his cup. “Hah! Worry about winning first.”

“Just want to make sure there is still a prize after all this.” Kun fed Hendery another piece of fish, his tone nonchalant while Xuxi observed the rigid line of his spine and shoulders.

“Your interest in him bores me,” the King said. “He is beautiful to crush. Like flower petals. If the fight comes and your Atellan—by some miracle!—wins and the Saphyrian is dead or broken, I will get you another one.”

A bomb exploded in Xuxi’s chest. He wrenched at his chains with a thunderous growl, and at the very same time, Kun threw out a fist and _twisted_. Xuxi’s collar tightened so suddenly that he could feel his eyes bulge and the veins in his neck pop at the pressure. The fire in his bloodstream was smothered as his body quickly reacted to its need for oxygen. He choked, clawing at the tourniquet around his throat. 

“I don’t want another one,” Kun said without any change in tone. 

Hendery was watching Xuxi from Kun’s lap with a tiny smile playing over his lips. He said, “Well, he is the King’s to do with as the King pleases. It can’t be helped.” 

Xuxi stumbled as black spots danced in his vision. His knees buckled, but he managed to remain standing. Kun released his fist, which loosened the collar.

The inside of Xuxi’s throat burned as he heaved for breath. He sucked in lungfuls of air, disoriented, his body disconnected from his brain. 

“Your Siren is right,” the King said. He stood and gloated over Kun, triumph in his eyes. “And anyway, you will not win the fight,” he continued. “Losing is not Weishen’s way. It is not _my_ way.”

Kun was quiet for a long moment. Members of the court called for order and attention when they noticed the King had arisen. A hush fell over the dining hall. Xuxi’s breathing was loud and ragged in his own ears. He kept hearing: _I will get you another one._

Into the humming silence, Kun spoke. “There is a first time for everything.” 

The words resonated within the pearly white walls of the hall.

Xuxi watched the way surprise made the corners of the King’s eyes tighten, watched the King contain it and exchange the emotion for something else. Something slick and proud and evil. A slow smile crawled across the King’s face. 

When the King laughed, it was a hollow ghostly sound, like shouting into a cave. He turned to his subjects and raised his arms into the air. As one, the room joined together in mindless laughter like an orchestra before a conductor, and the din swelled.

The King, ruddy in the face, addressed Kun privately, shielded by the noise he had created. “Do not talk back to me again,” he hissed, grinning.

.

Xuxi barely slept that night. Rage had burrowed deep into his bones and distorted the passing of time. When he sat up, morning had come. Shortly after, he received the news: The fight had been moved to tonight at the whim of the King. 

He shut down the part of him that was afraid. All he could feel was relief and anticipation. He would win tonight, and Ten would not have to endure another night in the King’s bed. 

.

Kun called for him at mid-day. Xuxi expected to join Kun in the gym to train but instead was brought to the First Prince’s rooms where Kun was pacing in the antechamber around the sparse Nimraen furniture. Kun dismissed everyone—all his servants and guards alike—with a distracted wave of his hand.

Xuxi stood by the window, quickly growing impatient with Kun’s strange, fraught energy. He had never seen him like this and didn’t know what to make of it, but his sympathy had worn thin. 

What had changed between yesterday and today? Just that the King had returned sooner than expected. It irritated Xuxi that this could rattle Kun. The convincing facade of confidence and power Kun had worn was breaking. 

“Do you hate him?” Xuxi asked.

Kun froze, his shoulders tight against his ears. “Who?”

“Your father,” Xuxi said. He could smell the metallic tang of electricity in the air, fizzling between their bodies. Static raised the hairs on his arms.

Kun said, "I love the Empire; therefore, I love the King."

It was an answer that told Xuxi nothing. Poetic and political, but empty. Xuxi scowled and looked out the window over the black ocean. The white foam of the waves looked like writhing snakes.

"Do you hate him?" Kun asked.

"Yes," Xuxi answered without hesitation. He caught Kun's reflection in the glass. His face was impassive and still.

"And do you hate the Empire?"

Xuxi paused on the crest of an inhale. If Kun had asked him this question two days ago, he might have said no, because hating the Empire felt as futile as hating the sky, or water, or air. Now, he paused, and Kun's expression flickered in the window. A twitch of his eyebrow, a tick at the corners of his lips.

"You do," Kun surmised from Xuxi's silence. "You see? They are the same."

It didn't feel like it should be so simple, but maybe it was. Kun could not hate his father because he loved the Empire. But if they were the same and Kun loved them...

"Then why do you move against the King?" Xuxi asked.

Xuxi glimpsed the beginnings of a beatific smile before Kun turned away from the window, hiding his expression from him.

Kun evaded the question with another. "How are you feeling about tonight?"

Xuxi rolled his shoulders down his back. "I won the others. I will win tonight."

"It may not be so easy," Kun warned, finally taking a seat on the chaise nestled in shadows by the opposite wall so that he could think with his head in his hands. Kun’s forehead creased when he was deep in thought. "My father is still celebrating his victory over Nimrae. He will not want to lose. He never does, but especially tonight. Not in front of his soldiers, his people."

Kun sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Xuxi wondered if Kun was remembering the conversation with Taeyong in the blue flower garden and the promise he had made to protect the Ten. 

For Kun, more than Ten’s life hinged on Xuxi winning the fight. If he lost, the inconvenience would be a setback, but Xuxi had no doubt that Kun had more players and pawns at the ready to pick up the pieces, to continue playing his game.

"He seemed pleased with himself this morning, and I don't think that bodes well for us," Kun continued. 

"You saw him? This morning?" Xuxi looked at Kun, at the compact figure he had become, shoulders hunched as he sat where the light could not reach. "Did you see Ten?"

Kun shook his head.

Worry made Xuxi's gut tighten, but he had to believe that Ten was still whole. He could not afford to lose hope and lose the fight, because then Ten would be lost as well. He knew that the King could double or even triple the number of nightcrawlers in the ring with Xuxi, and he would defeat them all to free Ten from the King's shackles. 

"Do you think your father is planning something?" Xuxi asked.

"He is always planning something," Kun said. "We will have to be ready for anything."

.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of violence and some monster-y gore in this chapter. take care <3

The salt in the air from the ocean spray clung to Xuxi’s skin, leaving behind a sticky residue. Xuxi could not see past the red slash of his blindfold, and he felt his other senses amplify and heighten to make up for it. He waded through the compressed humidity around him, feeling like the clouds were bearing directly down on his shoulders. By the time they had reached the edge of the dome by the sea—Xuxi could tell because the wind had fallen away—the blindfold was damp. His ears flickered between two directions: to the right, the roar of the ocean; to the left, the cheers and jeers of the crowd. 

The preparations for this fight had taken longer than Xuxi had expected, but the ritualistic nature of them had allowed him to burrow deep within himself and settle. To center himself before whatever was about to come. 

While Dejun and the attendants had bathed him, Xuxi had imagined himself reborn in the water. 

While Dejun trimmed him of his body hair, Xuxi had imagined himself shorn of all impurities. 

While Kun circled his naked body and drew ancient sigils in blood-red paint on his skin, Xuxi had allowed himself to believe in the power of their shapes, of the words Kun murmured as he worked.

Now, Xuxi carried his heart in his mouth. He felt strong. He felt sure. If he spoke, that spell would be broken.

He dug his feet into the wet sand. A gust of air signaled the opening of the dome.

Sicheng removed the blindfold, and rough hands pushed Xuxi into the arena as he blinked against the artificial light. 

The sky beyond the dome was vast and empty and dark. Xuxi scanned the stands as he always did, searching for Kun, the King, and Ten. When he found Kun, he saw that the King was sitting beside him. 

No Ten.

This did not surprise him. As wretched as it was, as a form of self preservation, he’d made peace with the idea that he would not see Ten again until the fight was won. From across the arena, the glint of the King’s teeth when he smiled felt like the swipe of a nightcrawler’s claws in his gut. 

Xuxi turned away. He had to focus.

That was when he noticed, beyond the tangled pile of monsters already inside with him, that the arena was smaller than usual. Halfway into the dome, the sand met the ocean, its waves lapping against the shoreline. 

It meant there was less land on which to fight. Xuxi could swim, but he wasn’t a _swimmer_ —he lacked true agility in the water. 

Kun had warned him of surprises. They’d expected and planned for multiple nightcrawlers. Reducing the size of the arena was creative, but it felt mild and amateurish; there was probably another surprise waiting for him.

He tried to remember if the water would give the nightcrawlers any sort of advantages, but he didn’t have time to dwell: the monsters were rising, their matted fur dark and their combined mass as they breathed and slowly regained consciousness reminding Xuxi of bubbling black tar. He could not tell where one began and another ended. As they pushed themselves to stand, growling, snarling, snapping their jaws and disentangling themselves, he counted four, then five, then six. 

The crowd rocked in the seats as many stood to get a better view. Xuxi felt their energy beam down on him like the mirage-inducing heat of the sun at midday. 

Xuxi assessed the nightcrawlers as their stupor lifted. Two were small and hovered close together; he knew he could dispatch them quickly and easily. Another was thin and ragged, yelping when a larger one bit at its hind legs, already deemed weak even by its brethren. 

The remaining three were huge. Their haunches were set like boulders, and Xuxi estimated each of the beasts was easily three times his own weight. Their protruding canines were the length of Xuxi’s whole hand. He wondered if these six would operate as a pack. 

He glanced back over his shoulder at Kun and caught the subtle rise of his fingers against his knee. The acknowledgement was enough for Xuxi. 

Moving swiftly, Xuxi broke into a loping run, keeping to the edge of the dome. He came up behind the two small nightcrawlers and launched himself onto one of their backs, throwing his arm around its windpipe and crushing it with his forearm. He squeezed. He felt the snap of bone. It went limp with a sad whine, dying quickly.

The other smaller one lifted its head toward Xuxi. It had sensed an intruder in their midst and snarled as Xuxi dropped the dead nightcrawler to the ground. 

Distantly, Xuxi registered the rising cheers from the crowd as he sprinted forward and tackled this nightcrawler into the sand, driving it away from the others that were still busy sniffing the air and blinking against the light. He focused on this nightcrawler’s chest, its protruding ribs. He visualized the heart that was just behind. 

When they skidded into the sand, the nightcrawler snapped its jaw in a futile attempt to capture Xuxi wherever it could, but Xuxi had the monster on its back within moments, and he folded both of his fists together and pounded into its chest until it caved in, until his knuckles came away black with inky blood and tufts of clumped fur. He felt the warm spray of it over his face, dripping down his cheek. 

It mingled with the salt on his skin.

Xuxi rolled off of the slain nightcrawler and balanced himself on the balls of his feet, ready for the others.

Two down; four to go.

They saw him, now. 

And they saw the threat that he was, too. The three hulking ones formed a formidable wall with the ocean as their backdrop, while the runt remained behind the others, a timid shadow in the face of an unfamiliar killer.

 _Come_ , Xuxi thought. _I’m ready for you. I’m ready for anything._

The largest of the nightcrawlers stepped forward and threw its head back in a throaty howl, and the others joined it in what sounded like a solemn battle cry. It glanced toward the two that Xuxi had killed and sniffed out of its snout, displacing sand, agitated, its blue eyes bright with fire. 

Xuxi would call that one _Alpha_ , just as he would the leader of a work crew back home on Atella, and he decided the other two larger ones were its _First_ and its _Second_.

The ocean lapped at their ankles. Xuxi imagined he could see the beasts thinking behind their eyes.

Without a signal, they moved as one, rushing forward with thundering footfalls as they kicked up wet sand. Xuxi flung himself to the side and caught the one closest to him with an arm around its torso, using his momentum to bring them both to the ground. 

Grit filled his mouth. 

They grappled, twisting and turning over each other to gain leverage. Claws raked through the skin of Xuxi’s back and he roared through the fiery pain that erupted down his spine. 

It fueled him. 

The beast pushed him back into the sand, but Xuxi lunged up and set his teeth around the tenderest point of its throat, latching on. 

He ripped his head to the side. Blood splashed down his front, over his face. The nightcrawler gurgled above him and stumbled on its legs. Surprised, perhaps. It gave Xuxi just enough of a window to dig his fingers into the wound and wrench out the column of its throat. 

Nightcrawler blood tasted bitter and earthy, rich in minerals. He spat it out though it still covered his chin and neck. He pushed the dying nightcrawler away, feeling the trenches on his back starting to close up. 

The crowd was booming now, shouting something to time, the tempo frenetic and urging. They loved the sight of blood and were cheering for him. They were on his side. While in the ring, he was _their_ fighter.

Three down; three to go.

His ears tilted back, sensing movement. The _Alpha_ and _Second_ were upon him. Sharp instinct took over and he wore it like a thick cloak over his shoulders. He didn’t have to think—he only needed to act.

When the nightcrawlers attacked, his body knew what to do. He dodged claws and teeth, twisted and danced in the sand between their larger masses, smirking when they crashed into each other. In the split second of their confusion that followed, he grabbed _Second’s_ snout in one hand and stabbed his thumb into its eye with his other, going so deep that it burst. Blood and ichor gushed from the ravaged socket, and the beast let out a horrible squeal.

The runt’s teeth tore into Xuxi’s side, gouging into the meat between his ribs. 

With a cry more out of frustration than pain, Xuxi let go of _Second_ , hefted the runt up by its legs, and slammed it into the ground. It twitched on its back, winded and choking. 

Xuxi lifted his foot to crush its trachea when something careened into him from behind, sending him sprawling and crashing into the wall of the dome. 

He pushed himself up against the glass, blood dripping from his wounds. In the reflection, he saw the _Alpha_ charging at him. He spun and threw his shoulder forward, meeting the impact of its body colliding into his.

The momentum knocked him back against the wall again, and his skull bounced off the glass with an audible, ringing thunk. Black spots fizzled at the corners of his vision. He ducked and twisted under the _Alpha's_ torso with a gasp, narrowly missing getting his own throat torn out by its jaws snapping over his neck. It had raised itself onto its hind legs, massive front paws sliding over the glass, claws leaving behind spiderweb-thin scratches in it.

Xuxi somersaulted underneath the _Alpha's_ reach and rolled right into the path of the _Second_ , which was foaming at the mouth in anger, half-blind and disoriented and weakened. It lunged at Xuxi wildly.

With nowhere else to go, Xuxi dove into the shallow water, thinking that he'd be able to pull one of the nightcrawler's under and drown it if one followed him in.

But neither did.

The _Second_ paced along the shoreline, just two of Xuxi's body lengths between them, its lone eye glowing viciously. Saliva dripped from the corners of its mouth as it panted. The _Alpha_ joined it, prowling, waiting.

Xuxi stood up in the water. It came up to his knees—mid-thigh when the waves tumbled in. He felt the scratches and the tears and the bruises he had earned through the fight begin to heal. Skin knitting back together. He rolled his shoulder and felt it pop, the pressure making his joints settle.

The crowd thundered in the stands. A portion had come down from the seats and gathered right up against the dome. They were pounding their fists against it and had pressed their faces into the glass. The curvature warped their reflections, and the ones that Xuxi could make out seemed to be laughing.

They'd not done that before, let anyone right by the dome during the fight. 

Something was off. Something was different.

He sought Kun and saw him standing also, his face as pale as the underside of a fish. Kun was holding his palm up by his hip, just out of the King's view, and curled his fingers toward himself once, twice when he noticed Xuxi’s gaze on him. His eyes were insistent, boring into Xuxi.

It was a meager sign, but Xuxi knew how to read it: _Get out of the water_.

He understood the message too late. A geyser exploded to Xuxi’s left, catching the runt that had just splashed into the incoming tide inside a column of water. 

As the spray and foam fell, Xuxi heard the runt yelp and cry out, and he saw what looked like an enormous, long, thick tentacle lifting itself out of the sea, shiny with slime. He watched with growing horror as it coiled itself around the runt’s body. 

The nightcrawler struggled, but it was clearly out of its element, and the tentacle had already overcome the beast’s desperate efforts to escape, dragging it further from shore. Bobbing among the waves, the runt gurgled at the surface for another breath before it was pulled under.

It didn’t reemerge.

Xuxi sprinted out of the shallows, lifting his knees high to overcome the pull of the waves. Whatever the fuck that thing was would have no problem wrapping a slimy tentacle around _him_ , too. 

He put as much distance between himself and the water as he could while the remaining nightcrawlers tread the shoreline, searching for their runt. Waiting for it to return. 

The glass of the dome was warm and familiar against his back. He glanced up at Kun again. 

Kun pointed at his teeth, then chewed on a fingernail when the King looked. Xuxi watched the King throw his head back in laughter as Kun played the part of a worried gambler who was about to lose.

Oh.

Was Xuxi about to lose?

No, he couldn’t lose! A seed of doubt taking root during such an important fight would dull his reactions and ruin his chances. He needed to stay sharp to stay alive. 

The sense of calm that Xuxi had brought with him to the fight was gone, now. Raw instinct had served him with the nightcrawlers, who were still preoccupied with whatever might be hiding in the water, but now Xuxi needed to think. 

Why had Kun pointed at his teeth? 

Fists pounded against the glass, the sound echoing in Xuxi’s ears. Did Xuxi need to steer clear of the mysterious creature’s teeth? He generally steered clear of them, so that couldn’t be it. Too obvious. Perhaps the nightcrawlers’ teeth were significant? Or maybe even Xuxi’s own? 

He worked the hinges of his jaw loose. Atellans were known for their bite. His tongue still tasted like metal from the nightcrawler’s blood.

The surface of the water within the dome began to shimmer like a mirage. Xuxi pushed himself off the glass, taking slow but certain steps forward. Though cautious, he was curious, too. 

What monster had the King found for him to fight? What foul creature could be so terrible that the King was up there with Kun, gloating already? 

And what could make Kun so pale?

He heard rumbling, felt the sand underneath him shake. A wave began to rise from afar, gaining speed and height as it rolled toward the shore. Soon, it towered over the nightcrawlers, who realized too late that they would be caught in the riptide. 

The wave broke with a crash that sounded like a mountain being cleaved in two, washing the nightcrawlers across the sand in its powerful wake.

Behind the wave, Xuxi saw the monster.

It rose up out of the ocean like a glistening black orb, the size of a small fighter ship. Two eyes, each as big around as the circle Xuxi could make with his arms, bulged from either side of its conical head. Tentacles as thick as tree trunks whipped and snapped through and above the choppy waters, the suckers on them pale and murky against its otherwise black body. The place where the tentacles met was just a huge, open mouth that was lined all around with rows and rows of dagger-like teeth.

 _Ah_ , _teeth_ , Xuxi had time to think just before the tapered end of one tentacle slopped near his feet, jerking him out of his stupefied state. He dodged to the side and fell onto his elbows in the sand when it flung itself back into the air. 

He scrambled upright and counted eight tentacles, one of which was squeezing the life out of _Second_ while the _Alpha_ tore into the rubbery-looking flesh with its teeth and claws. The other tentacles seemed to be flailing about in an attempt to churn _all_ of the ocean water inside of the dome into a whirlpool before Xuxi realized that the sea creature was _dragging itself onto the shore_. 

Its gaping maw lurched closer, a cavern of dark pink, glistening muscle out of which the most horrible stench wafted. Xuxi’s stomach roiled as the cloud of rot and decay that arose out of the creature’s mouth filled the arena. One of its eyes swiveled in Xuxi’s direction while the other remained on the agitated nightcrawlers. The pupil narrowed to a slit. Then the same eye roved over to where the two dead nightcrawlers were still heaped in the sand by the dome wall.

It was huge. How was Xuxi going to kill it?

Its tentacles were as thick around as Xuxi’s torso where they connected to its body, and it was—it had _already_ killed _Second_. 

It swept the limp body toward its mouth, even though the _Alpha_ clung onto one of _Second’s_ limbs and tried digging its heels into the wet sand.

With equal parts fascination and horror, Xuxi watched the tentacle push _Second_ into the cave of teeth, heard the crunch and snap of bone as the muscles of its throat constricted around the body so that it could swallow the nightcrawler slowly, bit by bit, dragging the carcass along its rows of teeth to shred skin and muscle and tissue apart.

 _Second_ was gone in a moment. Black blood bubbled between the gaps in bone, disappearing into the water, staining the sand. The _Alpha_ , howling, climbed its way up the side of the monster’s head, scrambling until it was right between its eyes, a place where Xuxi noticed the flesh seemed both more bulbous and softer. It gave against the nightcrawler’s weight. 

The _Alpha_ raked its claws into the tender spot. 

The sea creature’s entire body shivered and flashed silver, each one of its tentacles shooting out straight like a rod. 

What was under there? Another eye? A heart? A brain? 

With a movement nearly too quick for Xuxi to see, it snatched the _Alpha_ up with one of its tentacles and threw the nightcrawler across the dome with such force that when it cracked against the glass and fell back to the sand, it was dead. The nightcrawler heaved its last breath two steps from where Xuxi stood.

Well, at least now Xuxi only needed to worry about one thing in the arena. 

The sea creature continued to ooze forward onto the sand, its massive black body a quivering blob. It seemed to be deflating, spreading out, flattening. 

Xuxi realized it was losing its shape. 

It still had its eye on the two smaller dead nightcrawlers, seeming not to care that Xuxi was there. But as its body left the water entirely, it ground to a halt. Sand clung to its tentacles. Its eyes swiveled in opposite directions as it shuddered under the gravity of the world at the surface.

It began to retreat.

Xuxi knew he wouldn’t be able to kill it if it got back into the water.

Standing over the dead _Alpha,_ Xuxi tore its canines out, and, holding one in each hand, sprinted toward the sea creature. 

Its eyes caught his movement, and its tentacles followed, thudding to the sand all around Xuxi like falling trees. None of the thick tendrils was fast enough to touch him. He dodged on light feet, weaving between them like they were black vines, until he reached the side of its giant head.

He stood before its eye. The pupil narrowed into a slit, rotated. It saw him. Xuxi raised both canine stakes and stabbed the eye as hard and as deep as he could, dragging his makeshift weapons down to widen the wound. Water spurt from within. The creature did not bleed blood. It shivered again, flashing silver in warning and rolling its body in an attempt to crush Xuxi underneath it, but Xuxi was already moving.

He dashed behind the eye to where the creature’s mantle began to swell. Here, its skin was slick and covered in a layer of slime. He would need to use the teeth to climb.

He raised his arms and— 

Was suddenly airborne and winded, blinking rapidly in confusion until he realized he was looking at the sky, that he was falling back to the earth. His shoulder knocked into the sand with a loud crunch, even as he maneuvered into a roll to absorb the shock. Pain radiated up and down his arm, but he held onto the teeth fast and lifted himself to his feet—

And a tentacle collided into his gut, knocking him onto his back. 

He could taste his own blood in the back of his throat. 

He sucked in a wheezing breath and kicked up. The reminder of his mortality angered him. He had killed the nightcrawlers so easily, winked them out of existence like a god snapping his fingers. He wanted to feel like that again. 

For himself. And for Ten.

The monster attacked with a tentacle like it was a guillotine, slicing it down over Xuxi’s head. He evaded it by a hair, the slime on its surface grazing his shoulder as it passed him, and then he clambered onto it as it curled into the air, back toward the creature’s body. 

Holding on took nearly all of his strength. He straddled the appendage and wedged his thighs together, throwing his arms around so that he could lock his wrists—the teeth were still in his hands—underneath the palm-sized suckers. 

Wind whipped his face. He was getting closer to the body, to the tender spot in between the creature’s eyes. 

He passed over it once, then twice.

The third time, he measured, braced, and leaped.

He landed high on the crown of its head, but not close enough to the center. His feet slid out from under him on the slick, sloped surface, and he caught himself on his knees and forearms, biting down hard into his bottom lip. Blood filled his mouth. 

He stood and strode, sliding and slipping, to the raised bump in the creature’s forehead. The gouges where the _Alpha_ had managed to claw through the surface were marked by white, flaky flesh. The mound seemed to pulsate in time to the thrumming of Xuxi’s heart. 

He fell upon it in a frenzy, punching into the soft spot with the teeth, with his fists, using the weapons to dig into the flesh, scooping it out like it was dirt. Its skin rioted, starbursts of silver glistening, sweating, cascading over its body. It made a sound like a hundred birds being choked to death at once. 

Two tentacles swept over Xuxi’s head. He ducked. He dug. He stabbed and carved until he was calf-deep in dead white flesh and then he dropped to a knee and plunged both teeth into the deepest wound he could find. 

The teeth stuck.

The creature screeched again. Its tentacles flung themselves around its body but could not be raised high enough to do Xuxi any damage. He felt the whole being shift and move; it was beginning to dive. 

“Argh!” He couldn’t get the teeth out. He had hit something solid that didn’t quite have the density of bone. It felt like cartilage, or something similar. 

Whatever it was, it was protecting something. Hopefully something important.

Xuxi gave up on trying to pull the teeth out. Instead, he threw all of his weight behind them and drove them _through_ the obstacle.

There was more resistance, then grinding movement, and then— 

He sank into a soft, gel-like substance up to both elbows. 

The creature shuddered from deep within its center before going absolutely still. It flashed silver again, and then its color began to bleed from its skin from where Xuxi kneeled, until everything was a ghostly, semi-translucent white.

Xuxi pulled his arms from the wound, still gripping the teeth. He couldn’t seem to let them go. He was covered in grey matter that slopped from his skin.

The creature was dead.

He stood and turned to face the silent crowd.

Inside the arena was the King, holding a body over his shoulder like it was a sack of grains. He let it fall to the sand with a heavy thud, where it lay unmoving.

The body was Ten. His eyes were closed and his horns were dull.

Xuxi could not recall what happened next.

.

It was the strangeness of being swathed in soft linens and supported by a cushioned pallet that awoke Xuxi, though he kept his eyelids glued together. He ached all over and began to catalog these peculiar hurts in his body one by one. His shoulder was stiff, as was his back. The joints in his hands and fingers felt like that had all been dislocated and shoved back together wrong. Blood coated the back of his throat, both congealed and fresh. 

He couldn’t move his neck; the collar felt tighter than usual.

He smelled jasmine and honey. When he moved his arm, the back of his hand knocked against smooth skin.

Xuxi’s eyes opened to a dim room. 

Ten slept on his side, covers pulled up to his chin. Pale lashes fanned over the tops of his cheeks. One was bruised, the skin swollen and mottled purple and blue, the discoloration heaviest around the crescent shape of his eye socket. 

Xuxi, unthinking, lifted his hand and traced his finger lightly over Ten’s jawline. He was not sure he was real. His skin was the softest thing Xuxi had ever touched.

Ten’s face tightened at the contact. Still sleeping, Ten whimpered and tucked his chin closer to his chest, a protective reflex. 

Xuxi withdrew.

Movement out of the corner of his eye. The door opened. Xuxi finally recognized the room they were in as Kun’s. 

“You’re awake.” 

Kun sounded tired, his footsteps heavy. He was flanked by Yuqi and Minghao, who were both balancing in their hands golden trays carrying small dishes of fragrant oils and folded strips of white cloth. 

“I—” Xuxi tried to push himself into a seat, but his elbow collapsed under his own weight. What was wrong with his body? He fell back onto the pillows and heard Ten’s grunt of displeasure at being jostled.

“Lie back down,” Kun commanded. “You have not yet recovered.”

From what? The last thing Xuxi could remember was the sea creature, the mountain of white that announced its death. He remembered turning to the crowd. He remembered the silence. He remembered—

“The King,” Xuxi whispered. His voice was grisly and broken. Fresh blood filled his throat. He swallowed it down.

“Yes, he nearly killed you,” Kun remarked. “You’re lucky the soldiers like you, else he would have.”

“What happened?” Xuxi coughed. While Yuqi helped him up, propping the pillows against his back, Minghao was drawing the covers from Ten’s body, keeping Ten’s front covered. Xuxi only remembered his promise not to let Yuqi touch him when she stepped away to dip a strip of cloth in one of the oils.

Kun sat on the bed. He was dressed down in a black tunic and long belted jacket with red embroidery at the sleeves and collars. “You charged at him. He overtook you. You had won the fight, you see? But you cannot defeat the King. He showed everyone that yesterday.”

Yuqi reached forward with a soaked strip of cloth. Xuxi flinched back, wary of her touch and feeling guilty when she scowled at him.

Kun sighed and said, “Don’t be stupid. It’s for your neck.”

Yuqi pasted the strip against the juncture of Xuxi’s neck and shoulder, and the relief was immediate. His skin warmed there, then numbed at the surface, and then the warmth penetrated deep, relaxing his muscles. He swung his gaze around to see that Minghao was changing some sort of dressing on Ten’s back, and Ten’s face was contorted in discomfort. Not quite pain.

“What are you doing to him?” Xuxi mumbled, feeling floaty and tired all of the sudden.

Kun’s voice sounded far away when he spoke. “The same. He’d been whipped. This way, we can reduce the scarring.”

Anger slipped through his fingers like water through a sieve. 

He fell into a drugged sleep.

.

When Xuxi next awoke it was dark outside of Kun’s windows, the light within the room golden and low, and Ten’s clear blue eyes were open, staring at him.

“Hello,” Ten murmured, sinking deeper into the bed. His eyes flicked toward Xuxi’s neck, and Xuxi realized he could move it without any lingering tightness or pain. His body was well again.

He remembered Minghao tending to Ten’s back. “Are you...are you alright?”

Ten chewed on his bottom lip, avoiding his gaze. Light glanced off the bruised skin around his eye. Even like this Ten was beautiful like a jagged crystal shard.

Xuxi amended his question. “Are you in any pain?”

“Nothing I can’t bear,” Ten said. “Your neck. Is it…?”

Xuxi cupped his hand around the side of his own neck, feeling the familiar metal collar warm under his palm. His skin under the collar was raised, some of it gnarled. Scar tissue. He sat up. “It’s fine,” Xuxi said.

“Kun brought me flowers,” Ten said. He also sat up, but gingerly and slowly, the covers slipping to pool in his lap. He twisted and leaned toward the small table beside the bed, where a tray of delicate flowers rested. He said something else, but Xuxi could not hear him above the ringing in his ears. Ten’s back bore the long, crisscrossing pink scars of a lashing. Xuxi counted twenty. “...but you remember these, don’t you?” Ten was saying, “How Kun kept eating the yellow ones. He’ll be back soon. Let’s leave the yellow ones for him.”

Ten pulled the tray into his lap and settled with his back against the pillows. His smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his gaze flickered, darkened. “Xuxi?”

The question rushed out of him. “What happened to your back?” 

A blank stare. 

Slowly, Ten extended a finger and traced it around the small pink flowers laid out on the tray. A circle here, a square there. He plucked a violet bud up and ate it while gazing out the window. Xuxi thought he wouldn’t answer him. Then, Ten said, “I’d had enough of the King. I refused an order. He punished me. I woke up here.” He paused, looking at Xuxi now with half-lidded eyes. “Kun told me you won.”

“I did,” Xuxi said. 

“And yet you couldn’t even lay a finger on the King.”

Ten ate another flower, pink this time. He watched Xuxi without blinking, his bottom lip pushed out in a pout, his eerie stillness giving him an otherworldly aura. It felt like the air had chilled in the room. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” Xuxi explained, stomach plummeting. “I—I tried—”

“I know you did,” Ten interjected, his soft smile returning.

Tension released from Xuxi’s lungs and shoulders. Ten shifted closer to him and moved the tray into Xuxi’s lap.

“Will you pick out the pink ones for me?” Ten asked.

And what could Xuxi do but pick out the pink ones for him? The slick slop of the sea creature’s brains coating his forearms was a sense memory he tried to push down in his mind. He had pulverized muscle and bone with these hands. He took extra care when pinching the buds by their soft petals, afraid of crushing them.

Ten leaned into Xuxi’s side. He was cool and smooth at first, like marble, but he warmed quickly against the furnace of Xuxi’s skin. When Xuxi fed him by hand, Ten’s tongue swirled around the pad of Xuxi’s finger.

“More,” Ten said.

Xuxi fed him another one. This time, Ten latched his small hands around Xuxi’s wrist, keeping Xuxi’s fingers in his mouth. The sucking sound when Ten pulled his mouth off Xuxi’s fingers made Xuxi want to quake. He could feel a shiver starting in his gut, a throbbing deep in his belly and between his legs.

“Xuxi,” Ten whispered, eyes gleaming, sharp and narrowed. They reminded Xuxi of poised daggers. “Xuxi, do you remember your promise to me?”

Xuxi nodded. 

“What was it?”

“That when you needed me, when you asked for my help, I would do everything in my power to help you.”

Ten hummed, and Xuxi could tell that he was pleased. “That’s right,” Ten said. He leaned his cheek onto Xuxi’s shoulder. “Help me now. Help me with this.”

“With what?”

Ten grinned. “Help me kill the King,” he said. Each word was round, resonant, fully-formed.

And what could Xuxi do? He fed Ten another flower. Before Ten could swallow it, the doors opened. Prince Kun returned, holding a new collar between his hands.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to share a special thank you to everyone who has supported, commented, cheered, etc. through this fic. It took about 6 months but this part is done! 
> 
> i commissioned [art of the last scene](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya/status/1354975361679974406?s=20) and i love it so much. please check it in the thread!
> 
> and i also got some surprise art gifts that i want to share here too: [here](https://twitter.com/Zectarss/status/1344227235021148162?s=20) and [here](https://twitter.com/kinkybanhmi/status/1332916446536605696?s=20%22) \-- thank you so much <3
> 
> we may see Xuxi, Ten, and Kun again in space between kings
> 
> Thank you <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please share your comments and kudos, thank you! 
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya) | [my cc](http://curiouscat.me/andnowforyaya)


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